


Inktober Drabbles

by dippkip



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Cat!Bruce, Fem!Bruce, Fem!Clark, Firefighter!Clark, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Sherlock AU, Some shippy stuff, Voltron au, a bit of angst, and a college AU, as well as a Skyrim AU, chapter titles are the prompts each drabble was written for, kid!Bruce, kid!Clark, mostly fluffy, nonpowered coffee shop AU, now featuring Grandpa Bruce, policeman!Bruce, some Batfam fluff, some genderbent Bruce, there's a fallout AU in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8203780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dippkip/pseuds/dippkip
Summary: Drawing isn't my forte, but writing certainly is, so I'm participating in Inktober by doing one drabble a day, following a prompt list my friend made for me. An amalgamation of SuperBat and Batfam feels, mostly.





	1. Propose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very loose sequel to "Earning A Bat's Trust." You don't have to read that to enjoy this, but if you did read it and wanted something a bit more, here you go!

“Really Clark, _where_ are we going?”

“You’ll see in just a minute Bruce. Where’s your famed patience?”

Bruce grumbled, but he continued to obediently hold still as Clark flew, pulling him closer in the bridal hold to shield him from the wind. The vigilante’s hands twitched, almost as though he was going to reach up and tug at his blindfold again, but he consciously put them back in his lap.

Even though he knew Bruce couldn’t see him, Clark tried to smother another grin. After all these years, it still gave him a little thrill when Bruce trusted him like this. Sometimes it was for little things (like that time Bruce deferred to him for Lois’ wedding gift), and sometimes it was bigger things (when Bruce was about to be pulled into that closing portal and hadn’t doubted for a moment that Clark would catch him before he could go through), but no matter what it was, it was Bruce telling him _I trust you_.

Clark allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment – the warmth of Bruce in his arms, the sound of his quiet, even breaths, the peaceful atmosphere of their shared silence – before finally slowing down and beginning his descent. Bruce shifted, sensing the change in direction, but remained silent as Clark set him down.

“Can I take it off yet?”

“Just a moment,” Clark reprimanded, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice. He simply stood there for a moment, admiring the man he’d come to love so deeply over the last few years – taking in his windswept locks and full lips, curled into a soft, indulgent smile.

Clark thought he’d have more doubts about this moment, but right now, staring at Bruce, watching the moonlight bathe him in its soft glow, he knew this was something that was a long time coming.

He took a deep breath and slid down on one knee, sticking his hand into his jacket pocket and nervously playing with the velvet box he’d tucked in there.

“Okay Bruce, you can take it off now.”


	2. Monster

Clark took a shaky breath and tried to calm his hammering pulse. He ducked behind another tree, wincing as the bark scraped his back. He felt he really couldn’t say enough just how much he _hated_ magic. Stupid mage took his powers, trapped them in some kind of crystal, and dropped him in a forest in the dead of night, never mind his companion…

The low, distant growl convinced Clark to start moving again. He couldn’t decide if he was willing to sacrifice stealth for speed, so he was making his way through the underbrush in an unfortunate combination that seemed to be abandoning both. He fought down a gasp at every branch that lashed across his cheeks, every rock and root he nearly tripped over, but none of it seemed to be doing him any good – the growling was getting closer, and with his senses dulled, Clark couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from.

He finally broke into a clearing, stumbling out of the foliage and bending over, resting his hands on trembling knees as he tried to keep his desperate gasps for air quiet. He nearly choked on a lungful when the next growl came from just behind him.

He spun on his heel and backed up, trying to put the length of the clearing between himself and the creature that was slowly prowling out into the open. The massive black wolf was almost indistinguishable from the shadows it emerged from, but Clark had no problem picking out the gleam of its bared fangs or the bright yellow eyes that seethed with bloodlust.

He tried to raise his hands in a placating gesture, but one of his heels found another rock and he went down, landing on his rear with a jarring thud. He kept moving back, crawling until his back hit a tree at the edge of the clearing. The wolf continued its steady advance, not once breaking eye contact with the terrified Kryptonian.

“C’mon, you know it’s me, right? Snap out of it!” he pleaded, searching the beast’s face for any sign of recognition. He couldn’t find any, but it looked like it was slowing its advance, so Clark took a deep, steadying breath and tried again.

“I know you’re probably freaked out – trust me, I am too – but I can’t help you unless you calm down. I _know_ we can figure this out together, but that means I need you to _focus_.”

The wolf stopped completely, its snout scant inches from Clark’s face, and it exhaled sharply through its nose, ruffling his bangs. Its eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but it still held its body as though it was ready to attack. Okay, Clark could work with that. He looked deep into the creature’s eyes and his next words came out very softly, tinged with sadness.

“Don’t you recognize the man who loves you?”

The wolf blinked slowly, but its posture relaxed marginally. Holding his breath, Clark slowly raised his hand from the ground and brought it towards the wolf’s head. It eyed the appendage warily, but allowed him to gently cup its face and lightly scratch it behind the ear. Its eyes slowly drooped shut as he continued his ministrations.

“See, I’m your friend. Your partner. Please come back to me,” Clark softly pleaded, bringing his other hand up to mirror the first. The wolf gave a low, pleased rumble from somewhere deep in its chest, and its eyes slowly opened again, revealing irises that were now blue. Its eyes softened in a way so familiar it made Clark’s chest ache, and it leaned closer, gently nosing Clark’s cheek.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

As though waiting for Clark’s assurance, the wolf closed its eyes again, drawing in a deep breath through the nose and giving a full-body shudder. As the shaking grew worse, Clark leaned in and wrapped his arms around its neck, whispering reassurances into the thick fur.

The wolf let loose a sharp, piercing howl and began to contort unnaturally, limbs extending and fur receding. Clark held him through the entire process, the howl slowly becoming a drawn-out scream as the painful transformation reached completion. He pulled the shaking body as close as he could, keeping up the litany of ‘ _I love you_ ’s and ‘ _It’s okay, I’m here_ ’s.

Finally, the trembling stopped and a disused voice croaked, “Clark, that’s the stupidest stunt you’ve pulled yet.”

His lips pulled into a relieved grin as he murmured back, “Give me time Bruce, I’m sure I can come up with something worse.”

That pulled a reluctant huff of laughter from the man cradled in his arms. Clark looked into his eyes and carefully brushed his bangs away from his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce deflected, reaching up to cup Clark’s face in a mirror of what they’d been doing a few minutes ago. “ _You_ , however, need to be more careful. I could’ve killed you,” he said, choking out the last bit.

“Never,” Clark assured him, smiling and resting his hand over the one on his face, turning his head to kiss the inside of Bruce’s wrist. “You’d never hurt me Bruce. Not under mind control, not because of blackmail, and certainly not because of some goofy spell.”

Bruce’s face flushed, undoubtedly from some combination of embarrassment and frustration. “That doesn’t mean you should-”

Clark decided to cut off the lecture with a firm kiss, drawing Bruce into an upright position and wrapping his arms around him. Bruce put up a token protest, but it was only a moment before he slowly melted into Clark’s warmth and tangled his hands in the Kryptonian’s dark hair.

They kissed for what felt like ages before Clark slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against Bruce’s. They stayed like that for a moment, sharing breaths and holding each other close, before Bruce’s lips curled into a vicious smirk that sent a shudder down Clark’s spine.

“That was nice, but I think we’ve got a mage who needs to learn what it means to mess with the World’s Finest.”


	3. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a shippy drabble - more Batfam than anything else. I would suggest listening to ["Baby Mine"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtOyWfkg7Wc) from Dumbo while you read this one. Really sets the mood.

Even before he could see the mansion, Clark could hear Bruce’s heartbeat – steady, strong, and _present_. He landed silently on the manor lawn and tried to tame his curls, but gave up by the time he reached the front doors, which swung open before he could actually ring. Alfred, impeccable as ever, gestured for him to come inside. He looked as composed as usual, but Clark could tell his face was still a bit pale. Bruce gave them all quite the scare – a nasty run-in with Bane went sideways, and from the looks of it, Bruce was lucky his spine didn’t get broken again.

Clark took a deep breath and tried to shoot Alfred a reassuring smile before making his way up the grand staircase. He wandered down the hall towards Bruce’s room, trying to keep quiet – Bruce’s pulse and breathing hinted at him being asleep, and Clark didn’t want to disturb him. He came to an abrupt halt though, hand resting on the bedroom door, when he realized it wasn’t just Bruce’s heartbeat in the room. There were four others, equally calm and measured. Clark smiled and carefully pushed the door open, making sure it didn’t make a sound.

Bruce was laying out in the middle of his bed, asleep on his back and propped up with a ridiculous number of pillows. His unusually pale skin made his bruises all the more stark, and accentuated the bags under his eyes. Bandages and braces poked out from under the sheets and held his broken body together, but his face was soft and undisturbed by the ordeal.

Damian was curled up on Bruce’s left, furthest away from the door. Clark knew the boy was young, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen him look quite so…small. Vulnerable. His sleeping face was pinched with concern, and one of his hands gently grasped Bruce’s, mindful of his father’s injuries even in sleep. His entire body was pressed against the length of Bruce’s arm, but only so they were _just_ touching – enough to comfort the young boy without risking harm to his father.

Jason was just beneath him, stretched out so his face was near Bruce’s feet and his legs rested on Damian’s back. He laid on his side and had one arm thrown over Bruce’s shins, his thumb absently stroking a covered ankle. His other arm supported his head, and his mouth was hanging open, causing him to snore softly.

Tim had his forehead pressed into Bruce’s right hip. His legs stretched out so that his feet were hanging off the foot of the bed, where they occasionally twitched, and his arm was carefully draped over Bruce’s thighs and didn’t move an inch. He occasionally made a snuffling sort of sound and nuzzled into Bruce before quieting down again.

Dick took his post on Bruce’s right side, curled up smaller than Clark thought possible for a young man his size. His face was resting on a pillow just next to Bruce’s, nose buried in the other man’s shoulder. His left arm was curled above his head so he could tangle his fingers in Bruce’s hair, while his other hand rested lightly on Bruce’s bicep.  

Clark tried to swallow the lump in his throat and ignore the stinging sensation at the corner of his eyes. He carefully sat down in the large chair next to the bed, pulling it a bit closer as he did. He knew Bruce and his sons had their disagreements, had their arguments and falling-outs, and sometimes he couldn’t help but worry that _maybe this is it, maybe this one is what finally drives them away_.

Seeing them now, though, all curled around their father – perhaps out of a sense of protectiveness over him, perhaps to comfort themselves, remind themselves _yes, he’s alive, he’s fine, he’s not leaving anytime soon_ – Clark felt silly for ever worrying.

He felt his own eyelids begin to grow heavier and found himself losing the battle against the last few stressful hours. Before he completely gave over to his exhaustion, he tried to burn this image into his brain. He knew it wasn’t often this stubborn family admitted how much they worried about each other, and it made his chest pleasantly warm to see that they were occasionally willing to shelve their pride at times like this.

He leaned over and gently grasped Bruce’s right hand, resting his head on the bed just by Dick’s back, and slowly joined the Wayne boys in their silent vigil over the man they all loved.


	4. Superhero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU in which Bruce never became Batman. The boys are a bit younger in this, so Dick is 15, Jason’s 13, and Tim is 9.

Bruce tried his best to not sigh, subtly sifting to try and ease some of the tension in his shoulders. The thug guiding him towards the edge of the roof rewarded him with a lead pipe to the lower back for his efforts. He couldn’t suppress a grunt of pain as he continued marching, coming to a stop just a couple feet from the ledge, giving him a lovely view not unlike the one he had from his office just a few floors down. He slowly turned around to face the group that was currently holding him hostage on his own roof.

“Look, I _really_ don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here, but I’ve been threatened by better, so how about we just drop this and we all go home?”

“Nice try, Wayne,” their leader hissed. “You know my terms. You give us fifty million, or the only thing we’re droppin’ is you.”

Bruce deliberately didn’t look over his shoulder at the 35 story fall behind him. “We both know I’m not going to give you lowlifes a cent, so either get this over with, or let me get back to my office so I can do something more productive with my day than talk circles around a bunch of punks with bad haircuts.”

Bruce had been hoping to call their bluff, but judging by the interesting shade of purple the boss was turning, that _may_ have been a mistake.

“THAT’S IT, CHUCK ‘IM BOYS.”

The closest thug rushed forward and rammed his shoulder into Bruce’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him backwards, closer to the edge and–

Oh, apparently he was a bit closer to it than he thought.

Bruce could only blink as he felt the wind rushing up around him, his stomach swooping unpleasantly like he left it up on the roof. His thoughts were a scattered mess of _oh no, who’ll take care of the kids/who’s going to tell Alfred/who are you kidding he’s probably been watching this on the news the whole time/please look away Alfred you shouldn’t have to see this/are the kids watching/don’t let them watch/I don’t want them to endure that like I had to/I didn’t even get to see Dick graduate/I can’t die here/not yet/not now–_

His eyes squeezed shut as he braced himself for the inevitable, but instead of a harsh impact with the pavement, he felt…warm. Soft. Something was wrapped around him like a cocoon.

Hesitantly, he cracked an eye open, and his breath caught in his throat.

The face he saw was kind, handsome, and adorned with a soft, relieved smile. A pair of clear blue eyes calmly met his, and lips began moving, but Bruce couldn’t register what they were saying. He blinked hard and took a deep breath before asking, “Sorry Superman, could you repeat that?”

The Kryptonian’s smile widened just a bit as he said, “I asked if you were alright, Mr. Wayne. I wasn’t sure if those thugs roughed you up at all before they decided to toss you off your own building.”

Bruce gave a breathless chuckle before replying, “I’m fine. Shaken, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Superman responded, slowly beginning their descent to street level. Apparently the spectacle had drawn quite the crowd – traffic had been stopped and masses of people were gathered behind the police barriers, phones now held aloft hoping to catch a picture of the famed hero from Metropolis. Speaking of which…

“This isn’t exactly your usual beat, Superman. What brings you to Gotham?”

He gave Bruce a secretive sort of smile. “I was in town for business and saw the ruckus, so I thought I’d step in and lend a hand.”

Bruce frowned, wondering what kind of business a hero like _him_ could have in a city like Gotham before a great commotion in the crowd below drew his attention. He didn’t bother suppressing his fond sigh as he watched his 3 eldest sons jump over the police barriers and sprint to intercept the pair as Superman lightly landed on the sidewalk, setting Bruce on his own two feet.

“Bruce, are you okay!? The cops said-”

“What were you thinking, old man!? Goading a bunch of thugs like that!? What if-”

“DAD.”

Bruce smiled and opened his arms as the boys threw themselves at him, wrapping their own around him in a death grip. They were probably going to rip his suit at this rate, but he was hugging them back just as fiercely, so he couldn’t really complain. Dick and Jason reluctantly pulled away after a moment, but Tim refused to relinquish his hold on Bruce’s waist. He smiled and rested his hand in Tim’s hair before reassuring them, “I’m fine. Same old thugs, same demands. They just decided to get a little creative with the repercussions this time.”

Dick frowned, clearly trying to look stern, though the effect was ruined by the tears spilling down his face. “That was awful Bruce. Don’t do that again. Just give them the friggin’ money next time, _please_.”

Jason wasn’t doing much better. He was furiously swiping at his face and angrily muttering about _stupid old men_ who needed to _get their heads outta their asses_.

Tim just buried his face in Bruce’s stomach and whispered a muffled “Love you, Dad.”

Bruce’s smile softened as he ruffled Tim’s hair and gave them a whispered “Love you too,” before carefully prying the boy off his torso. He then turned back to his rescuer, who hastily adverted his eyes with a light blush.

“I can’t begin to thank you enough, Superman-” he started before Tim cut him off with a loud, “Thanks for savin’ our dad, Superman!!”

The Kryptonian smiled and squatted to meet the boy’s eyes. “It was my pleasure, son. Your dad is a good man who helps a lot of people in this city, so we’ve got to make sure he’s safe, right?”

Bruce tried to stamp down a blush at the praise, but Tim just smiled and agreed, “Dad’s the best!”

Superman nodded and slowly stood back up, giving Bruce another lingering glance.

“I _am_ glad you’re safe, Mr. Wayne. Gotham doesn’t have a lot of good men these days. It’s people like you who have the power to save this city from itself.”

“Hmm, looks like we’re the ones that need saving sometimes,” Bruce said, grinning wryly as he approached Superman, stopping only when he was nearly chest-to-chest with the alien.

“Uh, Mr. Wayne?”

“I think you deserve something for all your hard work, don’t you?”

Before the flustered hero could respond, Bruce quickly leaned in and firmly pressed their lips together. Just for a moment, just long enough to hear the catch of breath and feel the beginnings of reciprocation. He slowly pulled away and tried to not lick his lips too obviously, smirking at the deep flush that crept down the column of the Kryptonian’s throat and disappeared under the collar of his uniform.

“Have a good day, Superman.”

“Y-you too,” he awkwardly replied before shakily taking off, quickly vanishing behind the dark skyscrapers of Gotham City.

Bruce’s gaze lingered on the horizon for a moment before muffled snickering brought him out of his reverie. He reluctantly turned and sighed at Jason and Dick, who were poorly concealing their mirth and elbowing each other, while Tim’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Are you gonna marry Superman, Dad!?”

“Wha-” Bruce sputtered, prompting a fresh bout of laughter from the older boys, who looked ready to collapse. Bruce coughed and straightened his back, turning to Tim with a very serious, “No, I am not _marrying_ Superman, Tim. We’ve both got too much work to do for things like that.”

Tim’s face dimmed, but only slightly. Bruce thought he heard the boy mutter something about pushing him off a building again before his PA accosted him, patting him down and rapid-firing questions about his health before Bruce waved them off.

“I had an appointment this afternoon, didn’t I?”

He huffed. “Mr. Wayne, if you think for a moment I’m letting you go straight back to work-”

Bruce just raised an eyebrow, prompting a heavy sigh from the young man, who reluctantly pulled out a pocket planner and flicked through to the appropriate day.

“You do have an interview scheduled. Daily Planet. A…Mr. Kent?”

“Well, get in touch with him and let him know I’m still available, if this mess hasn’t scared him off,” Bruce said, already walking back into the building. “Dick, get your brothers home. I’ll be back a bit early tonight.”

Dick chuckled one last time, grabbing Tim’s hand and Jason’s shoulder. “Sure thing, Bruce. I’ll let Alfred know you’re okay.”

He watched his kids disappear into the crowd before continuing into the building and across the lobby, trying desperately to bring his heart rate down.

As he waited for the elevator, Bruce reached up and gently touched his lips.

Maybe that last move was a mistake. How on Earth was he supposed to give Kent any coherent answers if all he could think about was that kiss?


	5. Commander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want some appropriately dramatic music for this one, I would suggest: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwJj2EpC8vg

To say this wasn’t going well would be a massive understatement. To say this was going spectacularly badly would be a little closer, but still wouldn’t really capture the essence of the clusterfuck this had become.

The Justice League came to this planet to try and negotiate a ceasefire between an enslaved alien race and another that had been their masters for hundreds of years, but despite their best efforts, the talks became more and more hostile until the leader of the rebellion was killed in the final heated exchange.

Now the slaves had no real leader, nobody to rally behind, and the fighting that broke out was just as bad as before, if not worse. The League joined the fray to try and turn the tide in their favor, but with nobody to coordinate them, they were just getting picked off one by one.

Clark bowled through a line of slavers, sending the entire group flying, and grabbed two more that Flash tossed his way. He bashed their heads together and dropped their unconscious forms, scanning the battlefield for his teammates. He slowly ascended from the fray, dodging one of the horse-looking beasts the slavers used for mounts and looking for primary colors. A quick count had the entire team accounted for except for Batman, which usually wasn’t an issue, since the Dark Knight worked best when you couldn’t see him coming, but in a battle this intense, Clark couldn’t help but worry.

He knew he couldn’t do anything about it right now though, so he swallowed his doubts and prepared to rejoin the fight when he noticed the combatants slowly coming to a stunned halt, turning almost in unison to look to the top of the massive hill that ran down the West end of the battlefield. Clark followed their gaze and gasped in awe at the sight.

Positioned at the crest of the hill, cape snapping in the wind, mounted on one of the massive beasts, was Batman. His gaze swept the battlefield before he spoke, his deep voice reverberating across the valley.

“Is this it, then!? Hundreds of years of oppression and pain, decades of careful planning and retaliation, and _this_ is what you have to show for it!? One man goes down and all of it unravels? All that effort, all that suffering, is for nothing? Are you going to let your brothers and sisters, your wives and husbands, your _children_ die in vain because you suddenly decided it couldn’t be done?! After you’ve come _so_ close to everything you’ve hoped and prayed for?”

The slaves slowly turned to each other, their murmurs rising in volume and confidence as they readjusted their grips on their weapons.

“Now isn’t the time to slow down or have doubts,” he continued, “Now is the time to end it! Now is the time to show these scumbags you’re sick of being treated like animals and you aren’t going to sit there and take it! For every time they’ve made you bleed, you make them bleed in turn. For every loved one they’ve taken from you, you take from them. For every atrocity, for every day spent in fear, for every pain they’ve inflicted on you, return it all a thousand fold! This is the day you take back your lives and make them suffer for what you’ve lost!”

The slaves roared their approval, swarming their opponents with renewed vigor. From behind Bruce, slowly cresting the hill, came an entire battalion of mounted slaves – apparently the Bat had been busy at the slaver’s prison camp while the League was otherwise occupied.

“The rest of you, with me! We end this today!”

The riders roared in response and followed Batman’s charge down the slope, weapons brandished to deadly effect as they tore into the slavers’ ranks. Bruce threw two batarangs that hit their mark as he expertly maneuvered his mount through the fray, occasionally encouraging it to kick out at the surrounding opponents. Anyone that got in his way was brutally dealt with as he pushed through the mass of bodies, making his way towards the League, who had regrouped at the heart of the fight.

A slaver nearly caught him in the back of the head with a projectile, but before Bruce could even flinch, Clark appeared and batted it away, clearing a path for the Dark Knight with a quick sweep of laser vision. He grunted in acknowledgement, pulling at his mount’s reigns and guiding it deeper into the crowd.

“That was, uh, quite the speech there,” Clark said, pushing back another wave of slavers with a blast of ice breath.

Bruce grunted as he kicked another one in the jaw, dropping them on the spot. “I think you all tend to forget that I’m fairly accomplished at using my words to draw the exact reaction I want from people.”

“Oh, we don’t forget,” Clark assured him, “you just usually use them to verbally eviscerate people instead of hype up a crowd.”

Bruce’s smirk was dark as he tossed a few flashbangs off to his right, followed by a chorus of confused and pained screams.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Superman. Now pull yourself together – we need to end this _now_ while the slaves’ morale is holding.”

His husky tone sent a shiver down Clark’s spine, but the Kryptonian didn’t waste a moment, following Batman into the fray and watching his back.

No, never let it be said that the Bat didn’t get _exactly_ what he wanted from people, Clark thought as he batted away another projectile. That face and that voice promised a lot of things he hadn’t dare let himself hope for, but maybe the sooner they finished this, the sooner he could find out what Bruce _did_ want from him.


	6. Finally Together

“ _Kal, look out!_ ”

Diana’s warning came just a moment too late – Clark only had time to turn and look his opponent in the eye before something came ripping through his chest. He thought he caught a faint glimpse of green, but that hardly seemed relevant with all the blood on his uniform. He coughed one, twice, then fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Distantly, he heard Diana’s howl of outrage, heard the crunch of fist breaking bone, but the pain left his mind foggy in a way that was difficult to think around. He may have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, Diana was cradling him in her arms and yelling something about a med team.

“No,” he choked out, causing Diana’s gaze to snap to his face, “don’t bother. It’s…there’s nothing they can…”

Another cough cut him off, but by the way Diana’s face crumpled, he could tell she’d gotten the point. She gently pulled him closer, running her fingers through his hair, whispering, “Are you sure? Batman probably has the equipment to-”

“No,” he repeated, “I’m sure Damian would do his best, but there’s just no way…and I don’t want him to live with the guilt of something else he felt like he couldn’t prevent.”

Diana nodded in acquiescence, continuing to stroke his hair and clearly fighting off tears by now. “Is there anything I can do, Kal?”

Clark was about to say no again, but a memory came to him, unbidden, and he slowly replied, “Yes. Can you…can you take me to Bruce?”

The Amazon smiled sadly and gathered Clark up in her arms, taking off and flying as fast as she dared. Clark closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the breeze one last time, nodding off somewhere along the way.

 

* * *

 

“Kal, wake up, we’re here.”

He fought to open his eyes again, drawing a relieved breath when he recognized the Wayne Manor gardens. She gently set him down, leaning him against Bruce, and hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you like me to stay, Kal? Or?”

“I’m sorry Di, but I…I want to be alone with him. Thank you, for everything. I’m glad to have met you and called you my friend.”

A few tears finally escaped Diana’s eyes, but she only smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to Clark’s temple. “I am honored by our friendship, Kal. Thank _you_ for all the things you taught me about what it means to be a hero.”

Clark returned the smile as best as he could, watching her as she backed away and flew off. He drew a deep, rattling breath and finally turned to Bruce.

“Hey B, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Sorry I haven’t been by to visit. League stuff, you know how it is. I’m sure your kids have been keeping you good company though. Dick said he was just here a few days ago, and he always makes you smile.”

Bruce said nothing, but Clark wasn’t expecting an answer. You never could, with him. Like talking to a brick wall that grunts occasionally, according to Jason.

“I just…well, I probably haven’t got long left. I guess…I guess I just wanted to see my husband one last time,” he admitted, staring at the gold band on his left hand that glinted in the dying sunlight.

“I know you think it’s silly, but you…you’ve _always_ been important to me Bruce, even before we got married – even before I realized I was in love with you. At the end of the day, no matter what other things I called you, you were always my best friend. Always the most important person in my life…”

Clark looked up from his hands and off at the horizon. “And I know it’s selfish, but these last few years have been _so hard_ , I…I’m almost _glad_ it’s finally going to be over.”

He turned back to the heavy slab of stone he was propped up against, smiling. “I know it’s selfish, but I’ll _finally_ get to be with you again. And I can’t bring myself to regret that. It’s been almost _10 years_ , Bruce, and every single one of them has been hell, but I didn’t give up. I kept being Superman, I kept helping people, I kept _living_ , just like you wanted me to.”

He pressed his temple against the cool granite and let his eyes slide shut one last time.

“I’m coming home, Bruce. I’ll see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

_Bruce T. Wayne_

_April 7, 1976 – May 19, 2059_

_Beloved son, father, husband, and friend._

_May he find the peace in death that proved so elusive in life._

 


	7. Swim Suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this drabble, we have Clark and Bruce in an established relationship, some teasing, and a very jealous Kryptonian. Enjoy!

“Clark, c’mon man, the water’s great! C’mon in!”

“Just a minute, Hal!” Clark hollered back, smiling at his friends and adjusting his knee-length red swim trunks. The League had decided some R&R was in order, so they were taking a well-deserved day off at the beach, sequestered on some private island of Bruce’s. The billionaire was insistent that if they were going to do something as “spectacularly stupid” as relax somewhere without worrying about secret identities, that they should take “as few risks as possible,” and before they knew it, they were all being herded into a private jet and whisked away to some remote corner of the Caribbean.

However, despite these measures and the relaxing atmosphere, Bruce himself was sitting on a towel and huddled under an umbrella, wearing khaki shorts and a navy blue floral Hawaiian shirt that was probably a gift from Dick that he’d claimed to have thrown away. His fingers were dancing across a datapad that was propped up in his lap, lips pursed in concentration as his eyes flitted across the screen.

Clark sighed and plopped down in the sand next to his boyfriend, leaning over to see what he was working on. From what he could see of the zoomed-in blueprint, it was probably modifications to the Batmobile.

“I thought we all agreed that this was supposed to be a _vacation_ , Bruce. You aren’t supposed to be working on vacation,” Clark huffed.

“I can’t afford to-”

“If you couldn’t afford to take a vacation, you wouldn’t have bothered coming in the first place. C’mon Bruce. Don’t hide in the shade like a grump all day. Come out and enjoy the sun,” Clark pleaded. He paused for a moment and gave Bruce an exaggerated once-over before playfully adding, “You could stand to get a tan.”

Bruce sighed heavily, but the corners of his lips were curling into a fond smile that Clark was quickly becoming more familiar with. “You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself,” he teased, standing up and unbuttoning his shirt agonizingly slowly. Clark’s mouth went dry as his eyes stayed glued to Bruce’s callused hands, to every inch of scarred skin that was revealed as he worked his way down. He eventually shrugged out of it and let it drop on his towel, his eyes locked with Clark’s as his hands drifted to the button on his shorts.

Clark’s breath was coming in quick pants as Bruce removed his shorts with the same unhurried pace as his shirt, undoing the zipper and dragging them down the length of his muscled legs before stepping out of them. Clark nearly choked on his tongue when the billionaire stepped out from under the umbrella.

Bruce was standing in the sun, his hair ruffled and windswept, eyes glinting with mirth to match the smirk painted on his gorgeous lips, and completely bare except for a pair of black swimming shorts that _barely_ covered him. He casually stretched his arms above his head, allowing his smirk to deepen as he watched Clark’s gaze helplessly follow the shifting muscles in his back, covered by mouthwatering planes of scarred skin.

“Well? I thought you wanted to go for a swim?” Bruce teased.

Clark swallowed nervously before standing, remaining behind Bruce as he followed him down to the water’s edge so he could shamelessly watch his lithe body stride down the beach (and maybe spend a bit more time lingering on the firm ass his shorts did _nothing_ to conceal).

He only managed to drag his eyes away when he heard a wolf whistle nearby. His gaze snapped to the source – Hal, surprisingly enough – as the Lantern walked up to them. “Damn Spooky, those photoshoots really don’t do you justice, do they?”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “I never took you for a _Vogue_ reader, Jordan.”

“Oh, I don’t usually,” Hal shamelessly admitted, “Just the ones you’re in. Barry was gettin’ them for me as a joke at first, but I’ve gotta admit, you ain’t half bad to look at, Bats.”

Clark was distantly aware that his mouth was gaping in an extremely unflattering manner, but that didn’t seem as important as the ugly swell of jealously building in his chest.

Barry came over and nodded sagely, one hand propped on his hip while the other thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Objectively, your body is at the peak of human physical condition. Your muscle definition is ridiculous, and everything about your face is so…aesthetically pleasing. Looks like someone could cut their hand on your cheekbones if they tried to slap you.”

Bruce gave Clark’s bare chest a pointed glance, causing the Kryptonian to snap out of his jealous haze and blush, but Barry shook his head and waved impatiently. “No no, he doesn’t count. He’s an alien, and invulnerable, so _of course_ his body is perfect. We’re talking about us regular mortals right now.”

“Oh, silly me,” Bruce drawled, visibly stifling the urge to roll his eyes.

“Seriously though,” Hal persisted, “you’re ridiculously attractive. How is that even fair?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Diana approaching from the shoreline and heaved a sigh of relief. Surely she would be able to end this discussion and get everyone to do something _other_ than ogle his boyfriend.

“This conversation seems lively. May I ask what it’s about?” she inquired.

“Oh, you know, waxing poetic on how mind-bendingly handsome Bruce is. The usual,” Hal deadpanned.

“Ah yes, we don’t often have the chance to appreciate his physique, do we?” Diana observed, giving Bruce a once-over that had him raising both eyebrows and Clark fighting the urge to knock Diana into the ocean.

“See!? Even the Amazon gets it!” Barry exclaimed.

“What is there to ‘get’? One doesn’t need to be attracted to someone to be able to acknowledge their beauty. A fine physique, yes, but it’s the scars that complete the picture. They make him seem more…real. More dangerous,” she said, nodding decisively.

“Ooo, yeah, good point. Keeps him from being like, creepily pretty,” Hal agreed.

“Is there such a thing as ‘creepily pretty’?” Barry asked.

“You _have_ seen _Lord of the Rings_ , yeah? Those elves are just _not right_.”

“Okay, point taken.”

The three of them continued exchanging such points, casually commenting on his jawline (“chiseled”), his shoulders (“broad and tantalizing”), even his thighs (“he could crush my head with those things and I’d die happy”). It wasn’t until they moved on to his rear (“tight and delightfully perky”) that Clark finally lost it.

“I DID _NOT_ WAIT TEN YEARS FOR THIS MAN TO HAVE YOU ALL SHAMELESSLY GAWKING AT HIM LIKE THIS!” he snapped, grabbing Bruce and tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He turned away from the group and began resolutely marching back towards the cabins, ignoring the catcalls in his wake.

The amusement in Bruce’s voice was palpable as he asked, “Something the matter, Clark? They were just making objective observations.”

“I don’t think Hal’s comment about your thighs was in any way ‘objective,’” Clark grumbled, tightening his hold as he continued marching.

He felt Bruce’s chuckle rumble against his back before the billionaire pulled himself up. “Clark, you can ravish me all you want in the cabin, but right now we need to talk. Put me down.”

Clark hesitated a moment before slowly putting Bruce back on his feet, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling the Gothamite close.

“That’s better. Now, as endearing as the caveman routine was, I _do_ have to ask if this is going to be a regular issue. I don’t enjoy wearing those big heavy shorts you do when I go swimming, and if what I have on now is going to make you go ballistic every time I’m in public…”

“That’s not it,” Clark admitted, staring at Bruce’s collarbone instead of looking him in the eye. “It’s one thing when people stare at you – I mean, they’re not _blind_ , I can’t stop people from noticing how desirable you are – but when they’re not only _openly staring_ , but making _those kinds of comments_ and admitting they _collect_ magazines you’ve done photoshoots for…it was just a bit much.”

Bruce’s face softened as Clark rambled, his lips pulling into a slow smile as the nervous Kryptonian finally trailed off into an embarrassed silence. He wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, groaning when he was met with an enthusiastic response. He carefully pulled back before Clark could get carried away and took a deep breath, running his hands through Clark’s hair as he spoke.

“I understand. I know this has always been difficult for you. Brucie is always geared for public consumption – the entire _point_ is for people to objectify him – so there isn’t much of me the general populace hasn’t seen or commented on. His reputation as a playboy means you aren’t the first person to touch me, either. No part of me has ever really been sacred, in that sense. But Clark, there’s something I want you to understand. No matter how many people have seen me, no matter how many things they say, no matter how many of them have touched me, you’re the _only one_ whose opinions I care about. You’re the _only one_ who can touch me anymore. The only one I _want_ to touch me. Do you understand at least that much?”

Clark tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he tightened his grip on Bruce’s waist, nodding in answer while he tried to find his voice. “I understand, Bruce. I know you can’t help any of that. And I know what the bottom line is.”

He sealed their lips together again and growled without pulling away, “No matter what anyone’s seen or done before, you’re _mine_ now.”

“God, yes,” Bruce gasped into his mouth, tightening his grip in Clark’s hair.

Clark pulled him even closer and moved to mouth along Bruce’s jaw, sucking and nipping down the column of his neck and lavishing special attention on the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“I think you mentioned something earlier about ravishing?” he murmured against salty skin.

Bruce’s choked-off groan was his only response as he tried to start steering them towards the nearest cabin.

Clark’s lips curled into a smirk against Bruce’s neck. Maybe he’d be able to convince the other man to relax on his vacation after all.


	8. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fem!Bruce AU, so it's Brynne Wayne, for the duration of this drabble.

“So essentially, you offered to help Arthur before he explained what that entailed.”

“Yep.”

“And it turns out you need to take his place at a ball in Kasnia, where he was expected to dance with the Queen.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And the extent of your dancing abilities lie exclusively in square dancing and the electric slide, so you need to learn how to waltz before the end of the week.”

“Sounds about right.”

Brynne stifled the growing urge to smash Clark’s face into the table and instead brought a hand up to massage her temple. When he’d called and asked to have lunch at the Manor today, this was not how she was expecting it to go. Apparently they couldn’t just have a nice, relaxing meal out in the gardens without earnest, helpful Clark telling her he’d gotten in over his head. Again. He was still pinning her with that nervous, yet hopeful smile he’d been wearing since the beginning of the conversation.

She took a deep breath. “Fine, then we’ll meet after dinner _every day_ this week and work on it until I have to leave for patrol. If you’re going to dance with a queen, you’re going to have to be _perfect_ , or as close to it as we can get you.”

Clark’s entire face brightened. “Thanks Brynne! I knew I could – what are you doing?”

Brynne had risen from her seat and moved out into the open courtyard, turning back to Clark to respond, “ _We_ are beginning lesson one. Get over here, Kent.”

Clark nervously shot up out of his chair, nearly knocking it over, and hustled over to Brynne, coming to a halt a few feet in front of her.

“First, you are _entirely_ too far away,” she groused, grabbing his arms and pulling him in close enough that he could feel her irritated huff of breath against his collarbone. He fought back a shudder and tried to focus as she moved on.

“Next, hands.” She slid hers down his arms until she was gripping his wrists, guiding his right to her upper back and placing her hand in his left. Her left hand gently rested on Clark’s right shoulder and she straightened her back, raising an eyebrow until Clark did the same.

“Good. Remember to keep the hand on her back _high_. The last thing you need to do is cause an international incident because you were groping the Queen of Kasnia.”

Clark flushed bright red and began to protest, but Brynne grabbed his chin with her left hand and angled his head down.

“Remember to make eye contact with your partner. Make them feel like you two are the only people in the room. It’s incredibly rude to ignore the person in your arms.”

Clark’s face went a few shades darker at Brynne’s choice of words, but he solemnly nodded and kept his eyes locked with hers, even after she returned her hand to its position on his shoulder.

“Now, you’re going to have to lead, which means you _need_ to know the steps and be confident enough to take charge once you’re out on the dance floor. It’s fairly simple, just a – _Clark, are you listening to me_.”

His eyes snapped back to hers guiltily. Brynne took a deep breath and waited a moment for the homicidal urges to pass before she tried speaking again. “Clark, if you aren’t even going to listen, you don’t have to be here. There are plenty of other people who I’m sure would be willing to – ”

“No!” he yelped, flushing when she arched a graceful eyebrow.

“No, it’s…it’s not like I don’t want to learn, I do!” he assured her, “It’s just…you’re a very…distracting teacher.”

Both of her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Distracting. Care to clarify?”

“Not really,” he muttered, suddenly finding something on the ground _very_ interesting.

“ _Clark_.”

He remained silent, so Brynne grabbed his face with both hands and wrenched it up so he was looking at her again. His eyes widened and flickered down to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

_Ah. That’s what he meant._

She smirked, taking a kind of visceral pleasure in watching his gaze fall helplessly back to her lips. She traced his cheekbones with her thumbs and gently urged him to lean down further.

“Brynne…” he breathed, eyes hooded and shaking hands slowly coming to rest on her hips.

Her smirk softened into a smile and she whispered, “Me too Clark. Me too,” before pulling him down the last few inches.

After all these years, all those selfish nights spent wondering what this would be like, Brynne found none of it could compare. Her fingers tangled in Clark’s hair and she gasped into his mouth as he lifted her off the ground, guiding her legs to wrap around his torso and letting his hands come to rest on the underside of her thighs. She gave his hair a sharp tug and took note of the strangled groan it drew from him, mentally filing it away for later reference.

They stayed locked together like this until Brynne’s lungs began to burn. Reluctantly, she pulled away and drew a deep breath, huffing a laugh and turning her head when Clark tried to follow her lips.

“We mortals need to breathe, Clark. Give me a moment.”

His only response was a petulant grumble as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling the soft skin there and tightening his grip on her thighs.

“I never thought…I had _hoped_ , for so long, but I didn’t let myself imagine you…felt the same,” he whispered into her collarbone, nosing her shirt out of the way and pressing a gentle kiss to the exposed skin.

She shuddered and began running her fingers through his hair. “I didn’t let myself think I loved you either, for quite some time,” she admitted, ignoring the stuttered halt of his breath and quickly moving on.

“Clark, you…you’ve _always_ deserved better than me. All of my real relationships, ones where I actually _try_ , have ended in fire and brimstone. I don’t want to hurt you like that.” She paused a moment and whispered, almost to herself, “I _can’t_ lose you, Clark. It would kill me to know I drove you away myself.”

She kept her gaze focused on her hands, still combing through his hair, and almost cringed at the silence. _This is it_ , she thought, _he’s realized he’s made a terrible mistake and he’s going to walk away and –_

She let out a startled gasp when Clark surged up and kissed her again, so fiercely she knew she was going to have bruises to show for it. She tried to pull away and look at his expression, but he brought one hand up to cup her face and kept her close. After stealing all of her breath again, he pulled away, resting their foreheads together as Brynne fought to draw air into her lungs again.

“There is no force in this universe, no matter of circumstance, no _words_ that could drive me away from you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Brynne,” he insisted, his dark eyes burning with something she was afraid to put a name to. “You’re ridiculously smart, you’re the best fighter I’ve ever met, you deal with the worst Gotham has to offer, every single night, but it doesn’t stop you from being a wonderful friend and a loving mother. You’re incredibly kind and selfless, but you try so hard to act like you’re neither because you don’t want people to miss you if you don’t come home from a mission one day. You’re…you’re just so _perfect_ , and I can’t help but wonder sometimes what I did right to have had the privilege of meeting you.”

Brynne’s jaw locked as she tried to keep herself from tearing up, her face hardening as Clark’s softened. His lips stretched into a small, almost shy grin.

“I love you, Brynne Wayne. Everything about you is amazing, and I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.”

A few tears managed to escape as her hands fell to his chest and she grasped his shirt in her fists, pulling him in for another kiss. She didn’t let him move again until she had herself under control, leaving one last lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Clark,” she whispered against his cheek, “I don’t think I can teach you how to dance.”

“No?” he asked, giving her a cheeky grin and holding her close.

“No. As it turns out, you’re a very distracting student. I’ll have to find someone else for you.”

Clark hummed against her jaw. “Is there anyone else who can match your level of expertise?”

She tried to keep a sinister grin from spreading across her face.

“You can learn the same way _I_ did. You can learn with _Alfred_.”


	9. Hurting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a Fallout AU, based on a universe my friend [sugarlump](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarlump/pseuds/sugarlump) came up with, and was gracious enough to let me play with.

“Bruce, you need to lay down again, you can’t be moving on that leg – ”

“ _My kids have been ignoring my pings for **three days** Clark, something is **very** wrong, I need to _ – ”

Bruce broke off with a hiss as he bumped his broken leg on a low table. Clark lunged forward and caught him before he could fall, steadying him before slowly guiding him back to the ratty sofa he’d been confined to for the last week.

“Barbra is doing everything she can right now, and you know the others are busy gathering supplies. I’m sure Dick and Damian are fine. They probably just went outside the radio’s range.”

Bruce’s face darkened, but he grudgingly allowed himself to be manhandled as Clark propped up his injured leg.

“I shouldn’t have sent the others off to scavenge…they should – ”

“ _Bruce_ ,” Clark sighed heavily, “we ran out of stimpacks after that Deathclaw scare last week, and if you want to be off this couch before the end of the month, we need more. They _had_ to go.”

He didn’t respond, but Bruce glared at his leg, as though hoping he could intimidate it into instantly healing. Or he was just expressing his frustration at his own limits, but that was just part of his daily routine, it seemed.

Clark hesitated a moment before settling on the floor, leaning his side against the couch so he could look Bruce in the eye.

“I know you’re worried about them Bruce, but there isn’t anything else we can do. I’d go look for them myself but...”

Bruce’s glare shifted to him. “ _You_ are not nearly well-trained enough to go wandering the wastes alone, nevermind attempt a rescue operation.”

Clark smiled. “I figured that would be the case. Look, I know I can’t ask you to stop worrying. They’re your sons, so _of course_ you’re going to worry, but you can’t beat yourself up over it. _What if_ s are dangerous, Bruce. I think I’m pretty well-qualified to say that.”

Bruce’s gaze softened before it quickly dropped to his lap. He and Clark shared a companionable silence, only broken by the occasional rattle of the Mr. Gutsy patrolling outside, or the clatter of Alfred preparing lunch in the kitchen. Clark was about ready to nod off and catch a quick nap when Bruce’s deep voice startled him out of his reverie.

“I know I’ve trained them well. I know they can handle themselves out there. They’ve saved me more times than I can count, they’ve proven their ingenuity and their strength. I just…sometimes, I can’t help but look at them and still see the little kids I took in years ago,” he whispered. “They’re grown, but they’re still so _young_. And…and they’re _my kids_. I’m supposed to protect them, not…”

He broke off and huffed in frustration, crossing his arms and glaring at his lap again. Clark smiled fondly and rested his hand on Bruce’s uninjured leg, gently squeezing it so the other man would look at him.

“Last time I checked Bruce, that just means you’re a dad. An overprotective one, at that.”

Bruce glared again and swung his head to look out the window, but Clark caught the light dusting of pink high across his cheekbones. He chuckled and squeezed Bruce’s leg one more time before letting go and standing up. Bruce’s gaze swung back to him at the motion.

“How about I go get our lunch from Alfred, then we can go check with Barbra and see if she’s made any headway. That sound good?”

There was a sullen and vaguely embarrassed silence before Bruce nodded, turning his head to look out the window again. Clark’s smile widened and he turned to leave, pausing at the doorway when he heard his name.

“Yeah Bruce?”

Bruce wasn’t looking at him and didn’t appear to have moved, so for a moment, Clark thought maybe he was just hearing things, but then, so softly he had to strain to hear it –

“Thank you Clark. I’m glad you’re here.”

His grin widened impossibly, but he kept his response to a brief “Anytime, Bruce,” before leaving the room and making his way toward the kitchen.

He didn’t let himself make a delighted sound (that definitely _wasn’t_ a squeal) until he was down the hall and around the corner.


	10. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Fallout AU. A direct sequel to “Hurting.”

Clark was awoken by a commotion down the hall. His new instincts had him grabbing the shotgun next to his bed before his brain could process what was really happening. He paused a moment and listened – Mr. Gutsy wasn’t going nuts, so it wasn’t an intruder. There was a lot of chattering…he could make out Barbra’s melodic voice, along with two other familiar ones that made his eyes widen.

He was out of his room and down the hall in seconds, spinning around the corner and taking in the sight of a worn-out but otherwise healthy looking pair that had been missing for over a week now. The taller of the two brightened when Clark came in, offering him a smile and a jaunty salute, while the shorter boy’s face noticeably darkened, crossing his arms and huffing.

“Hey Clark! Sorry we were off the radar for so long. We got into a bit of trouble with a big group of raiders and kind of had to go incognito – had to shut off our comms so we didn’t make any noise. You know how it is,” Dick joked, shooting Clark a quick wink.

Damian tsk’ed at him. “As a matter of fact, he _wouldn’t_ know how it is, Grayson. The relic has hardly left the Manor since we brought him here.”

Dick just ruffled the boy’s hair with a fond “That’s the point, little wing. It was a joke.”

Damian grumbled irritably and swatted the hand away before turning to Barbra, who had been watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

“Where is Father?” he demanded.

“Yeah, where _is_ the old man? Usually he’s the first one out when a Radstag so much as a farts within a 3 mile radius,” Dick remarked, leaning to look behind Clark as though Bruce was hiding there.

“Oh shoot,” Clark muttered, hustling back down the hallway and ignoring the confused shouts in his wake.

He was so happy to see the boys, he completely forgot that Bruce could probably hear them from his room, but wouldn’t be able to get up and see them – they only had one set of crutches, and Bruce sacrificed them two days into his bedrest to make a railway rifle in a fit of restlessness.

He threw Bruce’s door open and yelped. The scavenger was hanging off the side of his bed, attempting some complicated maneuver in a bid to push himself upright without taking out the nightstand. As soon as Clark passed the threshold, Bruce lost his balance, tipping back head over heels until Clark dove in and grabbed him by the waist.

“ _Why do you insist on being such an unruly patient_ , _”_ Clark panted, tightening his grip for a moment and trying to focus on his irritation so he wouldn’t blush at the press of Bruce’s body.

Bruce, for his part, just grumbled and wiggled a bit before he seemed to resign himself to his fate, allowing Clark to haul him back onto the old mattress. Light footsteps announced the arrival of his sons, who began talking over each other the instant they came into the doorway.

“What was all the noise?”

“Father, are you – ”

“ _Christ_ Bruce _,_ what happened – ”

“It was the relic, wasn’t it? I told you – ”

“ – so sorry, Bruce, if I’d known you were hurt this bad – ”

“We should have _been_ there, Father. We would have – ”

“Stop,” Bruce snapped, making the boys instantly clam up. He took a deep breath and shifted his weight, poorly stifling a wince at the motion. Dick twitched, but obediently remained where he was, clearly stifling the urge to swoop in and fluff Bruce’s pillows.

“It was nobody’s fault. I was careless, we didn’t have enough stimpacks, so I’ve been waiting it out until the others return with more. _Clark_ ,” he emphasized, shooting a look at an unapologetic Damian, “has been extremely helpful while I’ve been bedridden. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Dick pouted. “’Nothing to worry about’? With you, there’s _always_ something to worry about, B.”

“You do have a streak of self-sacrifice that rears its head at the most unfortunate times,” Damian agreed.

Bruce made a face, but Clark just laughed. When he realized everyone was staring at him, he said, “Funny you two should say that. Bruce has been saying something similar all week long.”

Bruce shot him a deeply betrayed look, but Dick’s slow grin and Damian’s pleased flush were worth it.

“Aww, you were worried about us, B? That’s so sweet!” Dick gushed, clasping his hands under his chin and swooning ridiculously.

Bruce grumbled for a moment before he muttered, “Of course I was worried. What father doesn’t worry when his kids have been missing for a week?”

Both of the boys froze. For a few minutes, Clark didn’t think he even heard anybody breathe. Bruce broke the silence with a quiet, “Come here, both of you.”

Dick took a deep, wobbly breath that matched the tears now sliding down his cheeks, but he smiled as he lunged forward to envelop Bruce in a careful hug. Damian was biting his lip so hard he was almost drawing blood, and he wiped vigorously at his suspiciously bright eyes before crawling up onto the bed and embracing his father from the other side. Bruce wrapped his arms around his boys and pulled them in close, looking more content than Clark thought he’d ever seen him.

Clark quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door in his wake. He’d come back in a few minutes to see if the boys were hungry. Right now, he had a feeling they just wanted some time to catch up with their dad.


	11. Flying

“Bruce, is this entirely necessary?”

“For the fiftieth time Clark, yes it is.”

“You _do_ realize I can just – ”

“ _Yes Clark_ , and as I said before, we need to leave a paper trail.”

“Why are you like this Bruce.”

“It’s called being _careful_. When Brucie goes traveling, people like to look into it and know what he’s doing. Comes with being the media’s favorite hot mess.”

Clark sighed, but found he couldn’t disagree. He had hoped that he could go on a nice vacation with his boyfriend without having to worry about work or superhero stuff, but Gotham’s darling son couldn’t set foot outside the city without _somebody_ catching wind of it.

Which meant that instead of Clark quickly flying them out to Bruce’s private island, they were trapped on his private jet for the entire three hours it would now take to get there. Not that Clark had anything against flying the conventional way, it was just…he’d _really_ been looking forward to a whole week of Bruce’s undivided attention (or as undivided as it ever got with him), and he wanted to be sitting on the beach with him _now_ , not in three hours.

He frowned as he realized how petulant he sounded, but the sentiment didn’t really diminish. He sighed again and tried to focus on the open book in his lap, eyes moving over the words without really taking them in. The cabin was mostly quiet, save for the sound of Bruce tapping at a datapad, occasionally huffing or humming as he worked.

Unconsciously, Clark began focusing on the man seated across from him. He listened to the squeak of leather and the rustle of cloth as he uncrossed his legs. The steady, even gusts of breath. The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat. The scent of the expensive cologne Brucie wore, overlaying the man’s natural musk.

Giving up entirely on his book, Clark looked up and allowed himself to marvel at Bruce’s breathtaking beauty. As usual, he was dressed impeccably – a dark, tailored suit that accentuated the broad lines of his shoulders and custom Italian leather shoes. His hair was styled to within an inch of its life, carefully slicked back and held in place with ungodly amounts of product. Thick eyebrows furrowed and soft lips pursed as a schematic began giving him trouble.

Clark sighed yet again, but this time it was one of satisfaction. There were days he’d wake up and still have trouble believing he was in the arms of _Bruce Wayne_ , of his best friend and greatest ally, of possibly the most amazing person in the world (in his completely biased opinion). On those mornings, Clark would count every blessing that brought him here, to the same time and place as someone like Bruce. He startled as he realized his gaze was now being met by a pair of amused cobalt eyes.

“Did you need something Clark, or have I got a stain on my shirt?” he asked wryly, lips quirking into a small smirk.

Clark smiled shyly. “Just admiring how handsome you look today.”

A bit of pink dusted Bruce’s cheeks, but he returned Clark’s smile and reached out, taking one of the Kryptonian’s hands in his.

“I know you want to be there already, and I’m sorry we had to do things like this, but I just can’t afford to take any unnecessary risks. You…you understand, don’t you?” he asked quietly, staring at their linked hands as though afraid to meet Clark’s eyes.

Clark felt something warm settle in his chest and he leaned forward to press a tender kiss to Bruce’s temple.

“Of course I do, Bruce. I know you don’t like doing these things any more than I do, but we _both_ know it’s necessary, so there’s no use in complaining.” He gently cupped Bruce’s face with his free hand, tilting it up and forcing him to make eye contact.

“I knew all of this long before we were even friends, so if it was going to scare me away, I would’ve run a long time ago. You said yes when I asked you to dinner all those years ago, so you’re stuck with me now,” he teased.

Bruce‘s gaze became infinitely tender as he reached out to mirror Clark’s hold on his face, sliding his hand back to grab a fistful of thick black hair and pulling the Kryptonian into a heated kiss. His smooth lips glided over Clark’s as his tongue pushed its way in, coaxing Clark’s into a slow dance.

By the time Clark was panting and squirming in his seat, Bruce pulled back, smirking and tugging on Clark’s hair, drawing a breathy moan from his lips.

“We’ve only got another hour until we land. I think we can make good use of that time, hm?”

As Bruce began sinking to his knees and pulling at Clark’s belt, Clark realized that maybe conventional flight wasn’t as much of a drag as he’d previously feared.


	12. Tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a Skyrim AU, because with a prompt like 'tavern,' what else is a nerd to do?

Bruce stifled a groan as he gracefully collapsed into his booth at The Bannered Mare, acknowledging the barmaid’s nod as she went to retrieve his usual order. He undid the buckles keeping his quiver and Ebony bow strapped to his back and propped them against the side of his seat. A mug landed on the table in front of him, but the arm attached to it was far too heavily armored to belong to the barmaid.

“Heard you were back in town, so I thought I’d stop by and check on you.”

“Clark, I came through the gates less than 20 minutes ago. It’s late. I _just_ sat down. How can you _possibly_ hear that I got back?”

Clark grinned. “It helps when you know a few mages who keep an open ear for certain surly vagabonds.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his tankard. The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to the bard go on about some pretty, vengeful lass before Clark hesitantly asked, “The Brotherhood?”

Bruce sighed, but figured his friend deserved to know. “Yes. They never really lost track of me. They were just keeping their distance since I joined the Companions. I think I’m mostly just disappointed with myself for not expecting this.”

Clark’s brow crumpled. “Bruce, are you telling me you’re disappointed in yourself for finally feeling happy and safe somewhere?”

Clark didn’t receive an answer, but the silence was just as telling. He wanted to try and correct that skewed line of reasoning, but he knew Bruce wouldn’t listen, especially not right now, so instead he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Bruce sighed, seemingly relieved at the slight change in subject, “I’ve learned a lot since I left them, so I still have a few tricks they won’t be expecting.”

“Well that’s…good. I suppose.”

“It’ll have to do for now.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, Bruce’s face shifted in a way Clark learned meant he was thinking very deeply. His breath choked off as something occurred to him.

“No.”

“No what Clark? I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t need to, I know that look, and I know what it means right now. You are _not_ leaving the Companions, Bruce. Not now. The Brotherhood’s been tailing you this whole time and hasn’t made a move on anyone yet, I doubt they’ll start now.”

Bruce face hardened and he leaned over the table, resting a hand on it and dropping his voice. “Clark, the fact that they’ve decided to tell me that bit of information is worrying in and of itself. Secrets like that are typically kept close to the chest in the Dark Brotherhood – you don’t just go telling your target they’re being watched unless it’s part of a bigger plan.”

“Or maybe they did it just to make you paranoid and mess with your head! They probably figured you’d leave if they did that, so they could get you away from the protection of the Companions and have an easier time snatching you up. Ever think of it that way?” Clark hissed impatiently.

“ _Of course I have_ , but what other choice is there? I can’t risk – ” Bruce abruptly cut himself off, snapping his jaw shut as though to trap his unspoken words, but it didn’t keep Clark from missing what he meant.

It probably wasn’t appropriate, but he smiled as he said, “Bruce, I know you worry and care about your friends, but they can take care of themselves, and they want to take care of you. Let them. Stay. They want you to be safe and happy just as much as you wish it for them, and you probably stand a better chance of that here in Whiterun.”

Bruce’s face softened slightly, but the way he held his body screamed of apprehension. Clark dared to lean forward and lightly rest his hand over Bruce’s, gently squeezing it when the other man didn’t pull away.

“Bruce, _I_ need you here. This whole…Dragonborn mess? This is the most confusing, most frightening thing I’ve ever had to deal with,” he quietly admitted, “but having you here at my side has been _such_ a relief. The day I finally think I’ve done something _too_ weird, that I shouldn’t be considered human anymore, you just take it all in with your usual stoicism and say ‘Yes, and?’”

Clark chuckled a bit, but it quickly trailed off and his face became somber. “You’re my anchor, Bruce. You remind me why I’m bothering to go through all this. I don’t trust anyone to have my back in a fight the way I trust you. So _please_ Bruce, don’t leave. I…I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Clark stared at the table, unwilling to risk seeing cold rejection in his friend’s eyes, but was surprised when the hand in his grip flipped over to gently squeeze his hand in turn. Clark finally looked up and nearly gasped at the warmth in Bruce’s eyes.

“You really know me too well. I thought it would just be better, safer for everyone if I left, but maybe you have a point.” He gave Clark a small smile that just about melted his heart. “I think it would be easier to keep everyone safe if I keep close, hm? Not to mention the fact that the savior of Tamriel apparently can’t fulfil his destiny without his babysitter.”

Clark flushed, but tried to look solemn as he nodded. “Certainly not.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for awhile yet,” Bruce teased, slowly untangling their hands and leaning back in his seat, resting his head on the back of the booth and closing his eyes.

Clark smiled as he watched the warm firelight dance across Bruce’s skin. He may not know everything about his friend, but he knew Bruce had seen enough hardship, had experienced enough pain, that he _deserved_ to be happy. And Brotherhood or not, Clark would fight anything that came between the man he had come to love and that happiness he was owed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally came up with a pretty detailed universe for this AU as I was writing this, so if anyone expresses any interest, I may do a separate mini-series for this AU. Let me know what you all think!


	13. Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a college AU. Just because.

Clark pulled out his phone and checked the time again. A whole three minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked. He stifled a sigh and forced himself to pocket the device and swear he wouldn’t touch it again. The line had moved _maybe_ two feet in the half hour he’d been standing in it, and while he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to be anywhere, it was beginning to grate on him.

He wasn’t alone, apparently. The stern-looking guy in front of him had been still as a statue nearly the entire time Clark had been here, but now he was starting to tap his foot and shift the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Clark got the feeling that was practically a temper tantrum by this guy’s standards. He hadn’t exactly been Mr. Sunshine from the start, but now he looked downright murderous.

It was a shame, really. The guy was almost exactly Clark’s type – tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, blue eyes, _devastatingly_ handsome, what wasn’t to like? Unfortunately, he also looked like he might tear the arm off whoever looked at him wrong, and while that was hot in its own way, it didn’t exactly encourage conversation.

“Man, can they go _any_ slower?” Clark whined, balling his hand into a fist when he realized it was drifting back towards his pocket.

“Don’t tempt them,” came a grumble from in front of him. Clark snorted before it really occurred to him who must’ve been speaking. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat when he realized the grumpy stranger was shooting him a tired smirk over his shoulder.

Wow.

He looked a _lot_ better when he toned down the murder vibes.

Clark cleared his throat and tried to smile back. “Tempt who? All two people working up front?”

That earned him a deep, rumbling chuckle as the stranger turned to face him. “Is it just me, or do they only do things in a timely fashion here when you _aren’t_ in a hurry to be somewhere?”

Clark glanced at the duffle bag and guessed, “Have a game to get to?”

“Close.” He paused a moment, seemingly hesitant to elaborate before he added, “Tournament. I’m on the fencing team.”

Clark’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, I didn’t know we even had a fencing team. That’s so cool!”

Almost shyly, the stranger met his eyes and asked, “You think so?”

“Yeah!” Clark asserted. “I always watch it during the Olympics! It’s so fast-paced, but it’s also kinda elegant. It’s a shame it isn’t more popular.”

The dark-haired man shifted again before slowly admitting, “That’s where I want to end up, someday.”

“The Olympics!? That’s amazing! I’m sure you’ll be great!”

“Well, it’s a long way off still, but I’m going to be there someday.” he hedged.

“How do you even get started in fencing?” Clark asked. “Did you get recruited when you started coming here?”

“No, I’ve been fencing since I was 7.” Another hesitant pause. “My father was an Olympic fencer, so I want to go and win the gold for him, since he never did.”

“Wow! I guess that’s one way to get a start. I bet he’s really proud of you!”

The stranger ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the floor. “He’s been dead for over a decade now, so I can’t say for sure, but I like to think so.”

Clark almost kicked himself. He finally got the guy to open up, and he had to go and stick his foot in his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t – ”

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known,” he interrupted. “Besides, like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” Clark insisted.

The stranger blinked a few times. Clark could’ve sworn he saw the beginnings of a flush on those pale cheeks, but the line finally moved again, so they both turned and shuffled forward. The guy didn’t turn back around, and Clark was really about to slap himself when he heard a quiet, “It’s easier some days than others.”

Clark gaped for a moment before slowly smiling. “We never really introduced ourselves, did we? I’m Clark Kent. It’s nice to meet you.”

The stranger turned to face him again and offered his hand. “Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you too, Clark.”

“Bruce,” he repeated dumbly, shaking the extended hand on autopilot since his brain was a little preoccupied with how his name sounded on Bruce’s lips.

He was rewarded with a small smile that made his heart trip over itself. Bruce’s gaze dropped again for a moment before darting back up to squarely meet Clark’s gaze.

“If you aren’t doing anything after this, would…would you like to come watch?”

Clark blinked. “Watch…your fencing tournament?”

“Yeah. Spectators have to pay for a ticket, but I’ll buy it for you. If you…want to come, that is.” Bruce trailed off.

Clark could hardly believe his luck. His earlier blunder was forgiven, it seemed.

“I’d love to! Of course!” he assured.

Bruce gave him another small smile. “That’s assuming we ever get out of here in time to make it.”

“Well, I think they now have a _third_ person to deal with this mob, so maybe we’ll move an entire _four feet_ in the next half hour,” Clark joked.

Bruce chuckled and shuffled forward as the line advanced again. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he quickly pulled it out, already firing a text back as his eyes flicked from the screen to the line in front of him. Clark, funnily enough, felt no urge to pull his out again to check the time.

Something told him the rest of this wait wasn’t going to be as awful as he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What were they waiting in line for? Maybe it was the dorm post office. Perhaps the dining hall. Or maybe there was a booth handing out free underoos. I honestly don't know. Make of it what you please.


	14. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the obligatory coffee shop AU. Nobody has powers (or rather, nobody is a superhero, in Bruce's case).

Bruce was almost afraid to glance at the digital clock on his dashboard. He’d gotten a call from Lucius half an hour ago about a batch of paperwork that had been missing for weeks _finally_ turning up. He had to get in and sign off on all of it before 7, or else he’d have some very unhappy stockholders, but if that meant being awake _before the sun was up_ , then maybe he could afford to lose a few of them.

He stifled a yawn as he pulled into a Starbucks parking lot. If he was really going to do this, he needed _a lot_ more caffeine in his system.

He carefully climbed out of his car and halfheartedly smoothed the wrinkles out of his dark suit before stalking into the empty shop.

He was barely three steps in when an entirely too cheerful “Good morning!” assaulted his ears, drowning out the pop music wafting through the shop. He just grunted in return and squinted at the menu, trying to decide how close to an early grave he wanted to put himself via sugar intake.

“The Pumpkin Spice Latte is back for the fall, if you’d like to give it a try! It’s one of my favorites!” the same voice informed him. Bruce’s gaze dropped from the menu to the obnoxiously cheerful barista, intending to glare him into silence so he could order in peace, but something about the earnest, genuine grin and the lopsided, thick-framed glasses drew him up short.

He settled for twitching his eyebrow and grunting again before returning his attention to the menu. He deliberated for a few more minutes, trying to ignore the palpable energy the barista was giving off behind the register, before finally coming to a decision.

“Give me a triple shot non-fat Caramel Macciato with extra caramel and whip,” he quickly rattled off, already reaching for his wallet.

“Okay, you’ve got it! That’ll be – ”

“I don’t care how much it is, just take my card,” Bruce grunted impatiently, waving a black credit card in the barista’s general direction.

“Oh! Okay then.” He quickly swiped the card and completed the transaction, handing the card back.

“You want your receipt?” he asked brightly.

Bruce grunted a negative and began shuffling away, stopping only when asked, “Wait, who’s the order for? What’s your name? _I’m_ Clark, if you need anything else!”

 He wanted to be angry and tell the guy _I’m the only person in the entire Starbucks I don’t think you need my name to figure out who the drink is for_ but that would have taken entirely too much effort and brainpower. He settled for grumbling a quick “Bruce” before walking to a cushioned armchair and practically collapsing into it.

He faintly registered the sounds of blenders and clattering bottles as Clark prepared his drink, but he must have drifted off for a bit, because next thing he knew, there was a warm hand on his shoulder and a pair of worried blue eyes that were far too close to his face.

“Ah, good, you’re not a heavy sleeper! You look like you need to be somewhere, so I went ahead and woke you up. Hope you don’t mind. Oh, and here’s your order, Bruce,” the barista rambled, eventually holding the beverage within Bruce’s reach. A hand automatically shot out to procure the cup and immediately bring it to his lips. It was still hot enough to scald, but he took a long sip anyways and relished the burn.

He exhaled heavily when he brought the cup away from his face. “Thank you. I do have to get to work. Can’t afford to fall asleep in a Starbucks.”

Clark shifted a bit before sitting in the armchair adjacent to Bruce’s. “Surely you’ve got time to watch the sunrise?”

“Huh?”

The barista smiled. “It’ll be in just a few minutes. Just stay here and enjoy your coffee. I promise your day will be a lot better if you start it with a nice sunrise! It’s my favorite thing about working the early shift!”

Bruce blinked blearily and took another sip.

Clark’s smile just widened and he leaned over to nudge Bruce with his shoulder, whispering, “Just give it a try.”

So Bruce sat in a random Starbucks at ass o’clock in the morning with a cheerful barista he didn’t even know until the sun came peeking over the horizon.

It was nice, but he wouldn’t really have been able to tell you what it looked like. The barista, however, dimpled smile and raven locks bathed in the warm glow of the rising sun – Bruce could’ve talked about him for ages.


	15. Get Dressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's another nonpowered AU. Dick is 13, Jason’s 11, Cassandra is 9, Tim and Stephanie are 7, and Damian is 1.

Clark stirred slightly as his husband tried to slip out of bed. His arms tightened around the other’s waist and he whined wordlessly.

“I have to get the kids ready for school, Clark,” Bruce huffed, gently disentangling himself from Clark’s grip and pressing a kiss into his hair. “I’ll let you sleep in a bit, but you’ll have to come down if you ever want breakfast.”

The door closed and Clark sighed, rolling over and burrowing into the quilt. Out of habit, he began counting down in his head.

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! _DAD, TIMMY LET HIS RAT OUT OF THE CAGE AGAIN!!_ ”

“I DID NOT! NIKOLA GOT OUT ON HIS OWN!”

“IT’S TOO DAMN EARLY FOR ALL THIS _YELLING_ , YOU LITTLE DIPSHITS!”

“ ** _JASON, LANGUAGE._** ”

“Guys, if you keep yelling, you’re going to – ”

“WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“ – wake up Damian.”

Clark smiled into his pillow as the house began to fill with the sounds of his family waking up, bright and cheerful as usual. Furniture began banging against walls as small bodies threw themselves out of bed and began digging in dressers and wardrobes.

“ _Everyone get dressed and come downstairs. Breakfast will be ready in ten – first come, first serve._ ”

“NO FAIR DADDY! THE BOYS ARE SO MUCH FASTER AND THEY EAT MORE!!”

“….I’m faster than the boys, Stephanie.”

“You don’t count, Cassie.”

“Maybe don’t spend forever holding up two skirts against your shirt?”

“It’s called ‘fashion’ Timmy. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

There was a lot of clattering from the downstairs kitchen as Bruce began making pancakes, while upstairs, doors slammed open and feet thumped along the hall. One pair stopped in front of Clark’s door and rapped on it.

“Hey Pops, you want me to start your coffee?”

Clark rolled over and smiled at the closed door. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Dick.”

“No problem!” his oldest son chirped, thumping away to join his siblings downstairs. Clark let himself lay in bed for five more minutes before he reluctantly threw back the covers and put on his glasses. He securely tied the top of his sleep pants and threw on a white shirt that was balled up on the floor and had what looked like a jelly stain on the sleeve. He padded into the bathroom and washed his face before leaving the bedroom.

There was a swell of noise in the stairwell that made Clark smile again, so by the time he reached the kitchen doorway, he had to stop for a moment and take it all in.

Dick was putting the finishing touches on the coffee maker, brow furrowed as he closed the top and adjusted the settings. Jason was seated at the table, using one hand to eat his pancakes, and the other to throw whipped cream at Tim, who retaliated by squirting the syrup bottle at him from across the table. Cassandra sat placidly next to Jason, carefully cutting up her pancakes and eating them in small bites, occasionally leaning away from her brother when a shot of syrup went astray. Stephanie sat next to Tim, laughing every time Jason managed to pelt him with the cream and grabbing globs of it out of his hair to top her pancakes. Bruce was balancing a now-pacified and snoozing Damian on his forearm, letting the child rest against his chest with a thumb in his mouth while Bruce whipped eggs for his omelet. He noticed Clark leaning in the doorway and smiled softly.

“Good to see you up and about. _Our_ breakfast won’t be done for a few more minutes.”

“That’s alright,” Clark said, crossing the room to stand in front of his husband. He leaned in close and murmured, “I’ll have to make do with something else until then.” He went to close the gap and –

“EWWWWWW, PAPA’S BEIN’ GA-ROOOSSSSS.”

“POPS, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE.”

“….Papa gonna kiss Daddy?”

Clark just sighed and settled for planting a quick peck to Bruce’s smirking lips.  

“How about you call a ceasefire on the food fight over there while I finish _our_ food and feed Damian?” he suggested, hefting the baby a bit higher and pressing a kiss to his temple when he whined.

Clark smiled again and kissed Bruce’s cheek before turning around and bracing himself to enter the fray. His family was rambunctious, true, but as Cassandra gave him a small smile and offered him a bite of her breakfast while leaning to the side to dodge another stray glob of whipped cream, Clark realized he wouldn’t give it up for anything.


	16. In Labor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really an AU, but this is definitely more N52ish, since Babs isn’t paralyzed.

 “Here Barbra, let me – ”

“ _Clark_ , I’m fine. I think I can make it from my car to the living room in one piece.”

“You are also _nine months pregnant_. I think I’m allowed to be concerned.”

Barbra laughed, but humored Clark and let him gently scoop her up and carry her inside the manor, closely followed by an amused Dick. Their little parade ended in the main living room, where Bruce was already seated and deep in discussion with Damian, who was gesticulating violently. Both of them stopped as Clark settled Barbra on the couch just next to Bruce, who rolled his eyes.

“My husband seems to be more worried about your pregnancy than yours. I apologize on his behalf, Barbra.”

She smiled and wrapped Bruce up in a firm hug. “Don’t. He’s been nothing but sweet the entire time. I know he’s just excited about his grandbaby. Just like you are,” she added slyly, kissing Bruce on the cheek when he grumbled a halfhearted protest.

“C’mon B, you aren’t fooling anyone. You’ve been jockeying for grandkids ever since I mentioned proposing,” Dick teased, swooping in to give Bruce a hug when his wife released him.

“You’d certainly been dancing around the idea long enough…” Bruce complained, but hugged his son tightly before leaning back into the couch and allowing Damian to leap at his brother like a spider monkey.

“You said the baby would be here by now. Where is my nephew?” he demanded, clinging to Dick’s torso like a koala.

“Due dates aren’t a set-in-stone thing, little wing,” he laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair, “and there’s no guarantee it’s a boy. We avoided finding out the gender for a reason.”

“Preposterous. Of course it will be a boy. Why wouldn’t it be?” Damian insisted.

Dick just sighed, but lumbered to the kitchen with his brother in tow to go say hi to Alfred. Clark finally stopped fussing at Barbra and sat in an armchair near the couch, talking to her about names and making sure they had the nursery all set up while Bruce answered emails on his phone. Midway through the conversation, Barbra began shifting uncomfortably, but before either man could ask what was wrong, she doubled over and gasped. They both shot to their feet and rapid-fired questions, silenced only when she choked out, “My water just broke.”

They both froze, as did Dick, Damian, and Alfred, who had come running at the commotion and were now crowded in the doorframe. The peace lasted for only a moment before everyone broke into a flurry of activity.

“Bruce, we have to get her to the car!”

“We’re too far away from the hospital out here, Clark!”

“Can’t I just fly her there?”

“If I had a week, I couldn’t list all the reasons that’s a terrible idea.”

“B, my wife is in _labor_ , can you please demean your husband in your free time!?”

“Father, she’s in pain!”

“Gentleman, please,” Alfred huffed, brushing everyone away and placing a hand to Barbra’s forehead. “This house has seen its share of births, and I am more than capable of ensuring it sees another. Master Clark, if you would _carefully_ carry Mrs. Grayson to one of the downstairs guest rooms? Preferably close to the kitchen. Master Dick, accompany them. Your place now is at her side.”

Clark only hesitated for a moment before quickly moving to Barbra’s side and gently scooping her up again, taking off deeper into the house, again closely tailed by Dick, who had taken her hand and started whispering to her.

“Good. Master Damian, if you could go collect some towels and washcloths and bring them to the guest room, along with a large basin of water?”

“Right away, Pennyworth!” he yelped, dashing off to procure his assigned materials.

“Master Bruce…”

“Yes Alfred?”

“Go retrieve a first aid kit and join me as quickly as you can,” he said, leaving the living room, popping his head back in the doorway to add, “You’ll be helping me deliver your first grandchild.”

Bruce took a shaky breath, but he nodded and quickly made his way down to the cave, where they kept the more extensive kits.

He didn’t think he was remotely prepared to provide Alfred with any kind of assistance, but for Barbra, for Dick, for _his grandbaby_ , he was damn well willing to try.


	17. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's set in the BvS universe, sometime after Clark comes back. Heavily based on that one scene in Bruce's training sequence. [You know which one I mean.](https://youtu.be/CxxbfkYRQOY?t=16)

Clark carefully keyed in his password and pressed his hand to the pad for a quick scan before the concealed heavy steel doors slid open to let him downstairs. He slowly made his way down the metal staircase and into the cave, giving Alfred a nod when he saw the man hunched over a piece of intricate wirework with a soldering iron.

“Master Bruce is down in the gym,” he drawled, ignoring Clark’s blushing protests that “I don’t _just_ come here to see him, Alfred!” and going back to his work. Clark finally sighed and accepted his fate, giving Alfred a halfhearted wave as he continued his descent into the cave. He followed the sounds of clanking and quiet grunts until he rounded the last corner. The sight awaiting him there was one that was becoming more familiar, but certainly no less breathtaking for it.

Bruce was slowly pulling himself up on a set of chin-up bars, taking deep, measured breaths as he went through the set. Each time he moved, the chains slung around his waist rattled and the weights they threaded through clanked together. The harsh lighting in the room cast deep shadows across his body, giving his torso a frankly ridiculous amount of muscle definition (as if he needed the help). As usual, Clark’s eyes were specifically drawn to the puckered skin along the top of Bruce’s left pectoral.

Bruce had a lot of scars. You didn’t fight crime in a city like Gotham for as long as he did and not have anything to show for it. But for some reason, on those rare occasions when Clark saw him outside of a suit (whether it be Kevlar or Gucci), his eyes were consistently drawn to this one in particular. It wasn’t the largest. It wasn’t even the most gruesome. So Clark couldn’t really say why he did it, but here he was, eyes locked on this scar that spilled across half of the vigilante’s chest, following its hypnotic up-and-down motion as Bruce continued his chin-ups.

Clark nearly bit his tongue when Bruce broke the silence with an abrupt, “Did you actually need something, or did you plan on lurking in the doorway all night?”

Clark tried to stifle his blush as he stepped into the room. “You’ve kind of cornered the market on lurking. No room for amateurs like me.”

Bruce huffed a harsh laugh as he pulled himself up again. “No comment. Really though, you wouldn’t be down here if you didn’t need something, Clark.”

The Kryptonian hesitated, allowing the silence to be filled with Bruce’s sharp breaths. He knew what he _really_ wanted to ask. Just six words. _How did you get that scar?_ Simple enough. But Clark knew Bruce well enough by now to know that “simple” questions could get you the cold shoulder for _weeks_. The worst part was that Bruce _would_ probably tell him, out of some misplaced sense of obligation or guilt from the whole Doomsday mess, and he’d act like it was no big deal, but oh, Clark had a bad feeling it really was. Whoever gave him that scar, whatever the circumstances were, it wasn’t some inconsequential street thug. It was _big_. And it was most definitely none of Clark’s business.

So he cleared his throat and settled for saying something that was also technically true, even if it wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind.

“Diana said you’d be good to talk to about combat training…”

Bruce’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion and he reluctantly released his hold on the bar, dropping onto a crate below and allowing the weights to slip off his waist and hit the floor with a crash.

“Last I checked, she’s been fighting for a few _thousand_ years longer than I have, not to mention she can actually match your strength,” he observed, arching one of his eyebrows and grabbing a towel as he stepped off the crate, wiping off his torso and testing Clark’s ability to concentrate.

“She’s been working with me, and it’s been very helpful, but she’s teaching me to fight by incorporating my strength – I’d like to learn different techniques more suited for...if I don’t have my powers,” he explained, carefully not looking at the tantalizing scar that now seemed to be staring him in the face.

Bruce hummed thoughtfully before turning on his heel and retreating deeper into the makeshift gym. Clark blinked and instinctively followed. “Um, I mean, if you’ve got too much on your plate, I underst – ”

Suddenly, Clark was on his back, squinting at the fluorescent lights.

“Wha?”

“Lesson one:” Bruce growled, grinning wolfishly, “always pay attention.”

Clark stopped breathing and stared dumbly for a moment, gaze caught between the heaving chest and the dangerous smirk.

This may have been a mistake.


	18. Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to "In Labor." Giving you the grampa Bruce feels you deserve.

“Okay, and there’s her diaper bag.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Oh, and her bunny. She’ll drop it everywhere, but half the time she won’t lay down for a nap without him, so don’t lose track of it.”

“Alright.”

“And remember, she doesn’t eat a lot, but she does eat _often_ , so if it’s been more than – ”

“ _Dick_.”

The young man’s jaw snapped shut and he flushed. He carefully adjusted the sleeping bundle in his arms and stared lovingly at it.

“I know, I know. This is just gonna be the first time we’ve ever left her, B. It’s hard.”

Bruce’s face softened. “I never said it wasn’t, but Barbra _is_ expecting you to join her on this vacation at some point, and I won’t have you two climbing mountains and hiking through national parks with my granddaughter strapped to your back.”

Dick cracked a smile at that, reluctantly passing his sleeping daughter off to Bruce, pressing one last kiss to her forehead and whispering, “You be good for Grampa, okay sweetie?”

She snuffled a bit, but quickly snuggled up to Bruce’s chest, burrowing deeper into the warmth. Bruce viciously destroyed the urge to coo, but didn’t think he was successful at holding back a soppy smile.

Dick, on the other hand, was pouting deeply. “She doesn’t snuggle up to _me_ like that…” he whined.

“Frankly Dick, your chest isn’t as big as mine either,” Bruce teased, carefully readjusting his grip so he was cradling her with one arm. He used his now free arm to pull Dick into half a hug.

“You two enjoy your trip. Take some time to yourselves. Heaven knows you won’t have very much of it when you get back. And don’t worry about Mary. Worse comes to worse, Alfred’s here to help, so if you _really_ can’t trust me, at least trust him,” Bruce joked, lips twitching into a small smile.

Dick laughed and hugged him back. “I have complete and utter faith in your abilities, Bruce. You always seem to come through when people least expect it.”

Bruce cuffed him on the back of the head, but his smile didn’t falter as Dick danced out of his reach.

“Alrighty, then you’ll see us again in a couple of weeks! You and Mary have fun now!”

“I’m sure,” Bruce deadpanned, but obligingly waved as Dick hopped into his car and took off down the gravel driveway. A soft noise drew his attention to the baby again, who was yawning and blearily blinking up at him.

“Hello Mary,” he whispered, pulling her closer, “sorry I’m not your papa, but he’ll be back soon, I promise. Think you can put up with me in the meantime?”

He offered her his index finger and she reached out and grasped it tightly in her little fist. She made a few gurgling noises before looking him in the eye and giving him a toothless grin.

“Yes, you’re very cute. Just like your mama. And your papa, for that matter,” he murmured.

“Baba.”

“Hmm?”

“Baba,” she repeated, pinching her brows quite seriously as her grip tightened on his finger.

“Is that…me?”

“Baba.”

Bruce and Mary both considered each other for a moment before they came to some kind of unspoken agreement. “Baba it is, I suppose.”

“Baba!” she squealed, shaking the finger still tight in her grasp.

“Okay, how abut we go inside and say hi to your Great-Grampa and your Uncle Damian?” Bruce suggested, hefting her baby bag onto his shoulder and pushing the ajar front door open wider with his hip.

Her enthusiastic babbling was all the confirmation he needed.

 

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe it wasn’t a boy…” Damian pouted, peering over the railing of the crib at the sleeping child.

Bruce just sighed and continued reading his book, settling into the rocking chair and absently pushing on the floor with his foot to slowly rock himself back and forth.

“Well, Mary is what you got. Are you saying you love her any less because she isn’t a boy?”

“Of course not,” Damian huffed indignantly, pout deepening as he reached out to run a finger along her head, hesitating slightly at the soft spot near the back of her skull. “I just can’t believe I was wrong. I thought _for sure_ it was going to be a boy. I read all kinds of books and all the signs she was exhibiting pointed to the child being male…”

“Perhaps that just means we’ll have another little acrobat hanging from my chandeliers in a few years,” Bruce idly suggested, licking his fingers and turning the page.

“Perhaps,” Damian vaguely agreed, petting the soft red fuzz on Mary’s head. Bruce could tell the following silence was one of deep thought, but he waited until his son finally spoke up again.

“You don’t suppose we could begin training her this week, do you?”

“No, Damian, we aren’t training the baby to do anything, except maybe to poop and pee in the same diaper instead of waiting for us to change her in between.”

 

* * *

 

“Coffee, Master Bruce?”

“I’d appreciate it Alfred,” he sighed, dropping into one of the barstools at the kitchen’s island and resting his head in one of his hands.

“Bad night on patrol, sir?” the butler inquired.

“Patrol was a blessing,” Bruce groaned. “At least Killer Croc can be put down with a few good taser shots. Mary woke up every half hour on the dot and nothing could put her back to sleep in less than fifteen minutes. I don’t think she’s had a night that bad the entire time she’s been here.”

Alfred placed a mug of fresh coffee at Bruce’s elbow and turned to finish cleaning the dishes piled in the sink. “Perhaps you should consider moving her crib to your quarters, Master Bruce. They say children sleep better when they’re in the same room as some sort of parental figure.”

“I don’t want to spoil her, Alfred,” Bruce groused, grabbing the mug and taking a long drag of the scalding brew.

“ _Your_ parents did the same thing with you, for a time,” he replied. “Not for long, mind, but there was a time when you absolutely refused to sleep through an entire night. Master Thomas had your cradle moved to their room for a few months and you never had the problem again.”

Bruce was quiet, taking sips of his coffee while Alfred dutifully continued his work. It was several minutes before Bruce hesitantly asked, “Really? They did that?”

Alfred rested his hands on the edge of the sink and turned to face his charge with warm eyes. “Indeed, Master Bruce. Lady Martha was quite reluctant to return you to the nursery afterwards – apparently having you in the same room helped her sleep as much as it helped you.”

Bruce’s face was the most vulnerable Alfred had seen it in years. His lips parted, as though to ask something else, but a sharp cry from Bruce’s phone broke the spell of calm.

He quickly pulled it out of his pocket an opened up the baby monitor app Tim had developed and checked the footage, sighing heavily.

“Lady Mary again, sir?”

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, sticking his phone back in his pocket and moving to rise from his seat.

“Don’t bother yourself, sir, I’ll tend to her. One of my troupe’s old drinking songs should put her right back down. It worked quite well for you,” he said wryly, setting down his sponge and drying off his hands.

“Don’t let Dick catch you singing those to her, old man. He won’t have any of that profane language gracing his daughter’s ears,” Bruce teased.

“Well then, I suppose it will have to be our little secret, won’t it sir?” the butler replied, giving Bruce a small smile as he ducked out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Bruce took a deep breath and reclined further into the cushioned patio chair. The day was unusually sunny for Gotham, so the entire family was out enjoying the good weather. Jason, Cassandra, and Damian were out on the lawn, playing some complicated game of tag that only vigilantes could pull off without killing someone. Tim and Stephanie were sprawled out a safe distance away on a blanket in the grass, surrounded by open books that they occasionally pointed at – even though their voices were raised, Bruce couldn’t quite tell what they were arguing about. Something about exactly how gay Oscar Wilde was? Kate and Luke had even stopped by for a visit. They were seated at a table at the other end of the patio having tea with Alfred, who had been persuaded into taking a break. Mary was tucked into the crook of Bruce’s arm, quietly dozing. The only thing missing from the picture was…

“Hey there. Finally got her to lay down again?”

Bruce tilted his head back to give his husband a tired grin. “If we want her to get any sleep when the sun is up, someone has to be holding her, it seems.”

“Mmmhmm, like you didn’t tackle Jason when he offered to do it this afternoon?” Clark teased, pressing a kiss into Bruce’s ruffled hair.

“That is a gross exaggeration of the situation. I just suggested he may not want to be trapped in a chair all day,” Bruce replied haughtily.

“Sure B, whatever you say,” Clark agreed, grabbing another chair and settling in next to Bruce.

They sat together in silence for a while, listening to the soft sounds of the wildlife out in the gardens, and the less-soft sounds of the wildlife knocking each other into the lawn. Bruce knew he should probably be keeping half an eye on the game to make sure nobody (Damian, mostly) brought out any sharp objects, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the slumbering child in his arms. _His granddaughter_. It still baffled him on some level to call her that.

Ever since that fateful night in Crime Alley, Bruce didn’t think he’d ever truly be happy. Didn’t think he’d have a family again. But now, watching his _children_ kick each other in the gut and argue over long-dead playwrights, watching his _husband_ frown in concern over both, watching his _granddaughter_ sleep peacefully in his arms, Bruce realized he had trumped both expectations. He had a _family_ that he loved and cherished, a family that made him _happy_.

He had to bite his lip for a moment as he came dangerously close to tearing up. Clark was giving him funny looks, so he bent down to kiss Mary’s head to hide his own face for a moment while he fought to regain his composure.

“Are you okay, Bruce?” Clark asked, brows pinching in concern.

Bruce took another deep breath and sat up again, keeping his eyes glued to Mary’s face. “She’s just…so beautiful Clark. She’s so beautiful.”

Clark smiled warmly and leaned over to kiss Bruce’s cheek. “I think you might be a little biased there, Baba.”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Bruce teasingly reprimanded, “That’s Mary’s special name.”

“Hmm, true,” Clark hummed thoughtfully. “I get to call you a lot of other things, don’t I?”

He leaned in and pressed another kiss to Bruce’s temple. “My husband.”

A kiss to at the corner of Bruce’s eye. “My partner.”

The bridge of his nose. “My better half.”

His jaw. “My reason for living.”

A brief hesitation over his lips. “My love.”

With that, Clark firmly sealed their lips together, lingering long enough to make Bruce’s pulse quicken. His tongue darted out, teasing along Bruce’s lips and encouraging him to open his mouth, but just before he could, a loud smack broke the silence.

They broke apart, completely flabbergasted, but the tiny red mark on Clark’s chin and the surly glare on Mary’s face confirmed Bruce’s suspicions.

“No!” she cried, waving a hand at Clark as though trying to take another swing at him.

“No what, Mary?” he asked, confused and the tiniest bit hurt.

“No!” she repeated, wiggling until she could grab a fistful of Bruce’s shirt. “Baba! No!”

“Why can’t I kiss Baba? You let mommy and daddy kiss, don’t you?”

“No Baba!” she asserted, gripping Bruce’s shirt tighter and giving Clark a suspicious glare.

“Aww, c’mon Mary…” Clark whined.

That was about all Bruce could take. He burst out laughing, resting his free had over Mary’s little fist and gently prying her off his shirt, raising her hand and giving it a gentle kiss.

“You want Baba all to yourself, don’t you?” he asked, smiling at her grumpy face.

“Baba!” she confirmed, grabbing onto one of his fingers.

“Don’t encourage her Bruce,” Clark pouted, trying to lean in again but stopping when Mary’s tiny glare pinned him in place.

Bruce chuckled again and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry Mary, Baba isn’t going anywhere.”

He took another long, lingering look at her blue eyes, smiling at the crinkles that formed in their corners when she grinned up at him.

“No, Baba isn’t leaving. Baba won’t ever leave you, sweetheart.”


	19. Bleeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU with fem!Bruce and fem!Clark, established relationship, so it'll be Brynne Wayne and Claire Kent.

Brynne gave her audience another easy smile as she moved away from the group of socialites, setting her untouched glass of champagne on a nearby waiter’s tray. She sauntered across the massive ballroom, throwing winks and blowing the occasional kiss to those who called out to her as she tried to make her escape. She subtly picked up the edges of her [dark blue dress](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1654108/thumbs/o-SANDRA-BULLOCK-900.jpg?16), moving as fast as she dared in her current state.

It was only her years of training that kept the smiling mask in place as she was bodily intercepted by another admirer. This was a fairly common occurrence, especially at these charity galas, but she urgently needed to be elsewhere and she didn’t have the time to politely extricate herself from his attentions. Outwardly, she was the picture of flirtatious and friendly, but her mind worked at a frenzied pace as she tried to come up with a quick way out of this conversation.

An unlikely savior nearly tripped over her own skirt as she approached Brynne and the annoyance, coughing and nervously adjusting her updo as she interrupted with, “Claire Kent, Daily Planet. Ms. Wayne, if you have a moment, I’d appreciate it if I could get your thoughts on the latest Wayne Enterprises merger…”

Brynne had to smother a genuine smile and replace it with a leer, dragging her eyes up and down the length of Claire’s [red crossover bodice dress](http://img.davidsbridal.com/is/image/DavidsBridalInc/58028D_MRED_PARTY_PROD8_008?%24plpimagedesktop%24) and tossing her dark curls over her shoulder.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of thoughts, Miss Kent. How about I share them somewhere a little more private?” she suggested, hooded eyes darting back up to meet Claire’s. The reporter was now bright red, but she mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative, so without so much as a backwards glance at the man who had been trying to engage her, Brynne tucked her arm in Claire’s and started dragging her across the room.

When they got to the outskirts of the crowd, Claire took over, carefully guiding Brynne down a nearby hallway and into an empty room, locking the door behind them.

“Brynne, _what_ have you done this time,” Claire huffed, exasperated.

“What makes you think I’ve done anything, Claire? I’m hurt,” the billionaire deadpanned as she carefully took a deep breath, wincing slightly as a shot of pain in her ribs confirmed her suspicions.

Claire’s eyes squinted slightly, in that telling way they usually did when she used her x-ray vision, and she frowned deeply.

“Brynne, _please_ tell me you aren’t wearing that tight, strapless dress while you have _stitches_ in your left side.”

Because she was feeling particularly mature, Brynne didn’t respond and opted to lurch into the ensuite bathroom, leaning heavily on the edge of the sink and trying to keep her breathing shallow.

Claire sighed, but she followed her in and rested her hands on Brynne’s exposed shoulder blades, silently asking for permission. A sharp nod had Claire slowly dragging down the zipper on the dress, carefully peeling it back until she could see the stab wound and the burst stitches.

“No wonder you were in such a hurry…if you’d been out there any longer, this would have bled right through your dress…” Claire observed as she rooted around for a first aid kit. Brynne’s only response was a quiet grumble, followed quickly by a hiss as Claire pressed a hunk of gauze to the wound and applied pressure in an attempt to halt the bleeding.

“I probably could have gotten away with spilling champagne on myself to conceal the stain, but I can’t afford to leave just yet,” Brynne gasped, tightly gripping the edges of the countertop and trying to breathe past the pain.

“Trying to ply people for information?” Claire guessed as she pressed harder, resting her free hand between Brynne’s shoulder blades and rubbing her thumb in small, soothing circles.

“Yes. Someone here has been helping Cobblepot move drugs into the city, and I need more information to narrow the list of suspects,” she ground out, clenching her jaw as Claire pulled the gauze away and replaced it with a cotton ball of antiseptic ointment.

The Kryptonian hummed thoughtfully as she carefully cleaned the wound, tossing the bloody cotton balls in the trash and grabbing some clean gauze and heavy-duty butterfly bandages.

“I can’t redo your stitches, so I’ll put a few of these on under the gauze, but you’ve _got_ to be careful Brynne,” Claire pleaded, pressing the sides of the wound together and applying the bandages. Brynne hummed in response, watching Claire in the vanity mirror. Even though her hair was pulled back and she was wearing those insufferable glasses, she was as stunning as ever. Whoever helped her pick out that dress really did a good job, she thought with approval, eyes lingering at the little curls of hair escaping from the updo.

“ –ynne. Brynne? Are you listening?”

She blinked a few times, shaking her head a bit in an attempt to refocus. Claire had finished taping the gauze down and left her hands on Brynne’s hips, two comforting points of heat against her bare skin. Her delicate brows were pinched with concern as she met Brynne’s eyes in the mirror.

“Maybe you should call it a night,” she suggested, rubbing her hands up and down along Brynne’s spine.

The billionaire sighed and leaned back into her lover’s touch, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation for a moment before she spoke.

“I can’t, Claire. I need to get back out there…”

“What if I told you I already ‘interviewed’ everyone that’s on your list?” Claire asked innocently, letting her hands wander to Brynne’s sides, careful to avoid the gauze. “What if I said I already had most of the information you’re looking for and could probably tell you exactly who in that ballroom needs a visit from the Bat?”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the nape of Brynne’s neck, slipping her hands into the front of the dress and brushing the underside of her bra.

“Oh,” Brynne gasped, arching into the touch, “well, I might be…persuaded to take an early night, if that were the case.”

Claire smiled against her neck, kissing and biting her way down along Brynne’s spine and running her tongue along the edge of her lacy underwear.

“Then how about we get you to your car, Ms. Wayne? The best thing I can prescribe for that injury is to lose the dress as soon as you can,” she purred, carefully adjusting the fabric and zipping the back up again.

Brynne turned in Claire’s arms to face her, wrapping her arms around her neck and pulling her in close.

“Seems like sound advice. I do hope you’re offering your services, Ms. Kent,” Brynne smirked before pulling her into a fierce kiss, carefully pressing herself along the entire length of Claire’s body.

Needless to say, it took them quite a while to actually make it to the car.


	20. Magic Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring Jason Blood! Because my love for this underappreciated man knows no bounds.

“Bruce, are you kidding me?”

An unimpressed silence was the only answer Clark got.

“Okay, look, I might have something laying around the fortress that could – ”

A sharp glare cut off that train of thought.

“Well, do you have any better ideas? _You_ asked me to come help – if you don’t want it, I can leave.”

The silence became a bit sheepish, and Bruce made an apologetic sound. Clark sighed.

“I know you aren’t pleased with the situation, but we’re only gonna fix this if we work together, okay?”

“Mrow.”

Bruce’s tail lashed through the air as his paws tapped furiously at the Batcomputer’s keyboard. When he was done, the display read:

_I haven’t encountered anything like this before, but I’m sure Jason would have some idea of where to begin._

“Jason Blood?” Clark clarified. A furry head gave a sharp nod and paws began hitting the keyboard again.

Honestly, since Bruce managed to get himself turned into a cat (thanks to one of Selina’s newest acquisitions), this was the quickest method of communication they’d been able to come up with. Bruce had hailed Clark’s emergency line, but hadn’t given any explanation, so Clark had rushed to the cave, fearing the worst. Needless to say, he was a combination of relieved and confused when he didn’t find Bruce bleeding out on the floor, but instead a sleek black cat with bright blue eyes, looking at him impatiently.

Fortunately, Clark hadn’t done anything embarrassing before Bruce could explain the situation, but that still left him with the issue of fixing it. Blood _did_ seem like the best option, but Clark was hesitant.

_We should head out now, before the kids get back from patrol._

“Hmm? What’s the rush?”

_Do you REALLY think I want them to see me like this?? I won’t hear the end of it, Clark._

“If you say so, B. C’mon, let’s – ”

Clark flinched when the sound of motorcycles echoed from further down the tunnels. Bruce’s ears perked up, indicating he heard it too, and he quickly turned to the console and began deleting his half of their conversation, pulling up the usual security feeds before quickly dropping off the desk and onto the floor.

“What are you doing!?” Clark hissed as Bruce sat down, curling his tail elegantly around his paws.

Naturally, he didn’t receive an answer, but before he could figure out what was happening, a group of chattering vigilantes were turning the corner.

“Clark! Hey! Nice to see you!” Dick crowed, jogging up to hug the Kryptonian tightly.

“Good to see you too Dick,” he sighed, hugging him back.

“Kind of unusual to see you around without the old man though,” Jason observed, peering around the cave in search of his mentor.

“Ah, well – ”

“Bruce doesn’t _have_ to be here for Clark to stop by, guys,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe he just wanted to see us!”

“Except Clark _always_ calls ahead when that’s the case,” Tim said, squinting suspiciously.

“Hmph. The alien acting strangely is hardly unusual, Drake,” Damian groused.

Clark struggled to give them a satisfactory explanation, but Cassandra cut off his reply.

“…..why do you have a cat?” she asked quietly.

_That_ certainly got everyone’s attention. All eyes dropped to the floor, and to the sleek cat perched by Clark’s feet. Bruce glared at him for the briefest moment, but quickly relaxed his face again.

Clark flailed, trying to figure out what Bruce wanted from him, before finally stammering, “Uh…I…rescued it. On my way here? And I was just…going to stop by and see if Bruce was busy before I took it back to its home. But he’s not here, so I’ll just be going.”

“Oh no you don’t, we need to meet this handsome fella!” Dick exclaimed, squatting down and carefully picking Bruce up. “What’s your name, big guy?” he cooed, cradling Bruce like a baby and trying to kiss his head.

Bruce wiggled in Dick’s grip and somehow went boneless, effortlessly sliding out of the man’s grasp, causing him to whine.

“You can’t just pick up random cats, Dick. They don’t usually like being held by strangers,” Tim deadpanned, squatting and holding his hand out. Bruce sniffed it cautiously before butting his head against the knuckles, prompting Tim to pet him a few times before standing up.

“I just wanted to love him…” Dick murmured sadly as Stephanie and Cassandra took their turn petting the cat.

“Well he obviously doesn’t feel the same way, Grayson,” Damian snapped before pushing his way to the front of the group. He sat down and crossed his legs, staring Bruce in the eye. They had some kind of impromptu staring contest before some silent decision was made and Bruce strutted forward, carefully climbing into the boy’s lap and curling up.

Damian’s eyes widened slightly and his breath caught for a moment before he reverently reached out and began petting Bruce in long, firm strokes down his spine.

“Aw man, is he _purring_!?” Dick pouted.

Damian just smiled in delight, petting his new friend and ignoring Jason’s quiet jibes of “ _another_ stupid animal, for chrissakes.”

Clark was absolutely mortified. He had no idea how to extract Bruce and leave without causing suspicion. Judging by the look on Damian’s face, Bruce was one second way from being adopted and joining the boy’s menagerie of strays.

“Um, guys, I really should – ”

“Oh, Master Clark, what a lovely surprise.”

Clark had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning aloud. Alfred came down the stairs with a tray of tea and biscuits, causing most of the kids to swarm him like sharks at a feeding frenzy. He left the tray on a countertop with practiced ease and sidestepped the rush of bodies, approaching Clark and Damian, who was still sitting on the floor.

“I see you have a new friend, Master Damian,” he remarked.

“The alien brought him. He seems…quite nice, don’t you think, Pennyworth?”

Alfred and Bruce stared at each other for a moment and…did Alfred _smile_? It was gone before Clark could be sure, and he blandly advised, “Don’t let looks deceive you, Master Damian. This one seems rather immature. Ill-mannered, as it were.”

Bruce’s ear twitched in annoyance, but he didn’t react otherwise.

“Yes, I’m sure it comes from an overly-indulgent household, so they just let it brood and misbehave without giving it any kind of proper training. A shame, really,” he continued, lips twitching when Bruce flicked his tail in annoyance.

“Regardless, it needs to go home, Master Damian. Please return him to Master Clark.”

Damian huffed and pouted, but he gave the cat one last pat on the head before carefully picking him up and handing him off to Clark with great solemnity.

“Ensure his safe return,” he commanded.

“Of course,” Clark agreed, smiling and tucking Bruce under his arm. After a quick goodbye to the rest of the clan, he lifted off and left the cave through the back tunnels, shooting out into the night. Bruce made a displeased sound and kneaded Clark’s arm with his claws.

“Don’t grouse at me, mister. You’re the one who decided to play the part of innocuous, regular old cat.” He paused for a moment in consideration before adding, “I don’t think you fooled Alfred though.”

Clark easily translated the noise Bruce made as something like _Gee, you think?_

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before Clark was landing in the alley behind Jason Blood’s curio shop, checking the street for passerby before slipping out onto the sidewalk and through the front door of the shop. A small bell announced his presence, and he scanned the cramped quarters for their caretaker.

“Jason? Uh, we have a bit of a situation here. Could use your help,” he said, adjusting his grip on Bruce as he ventured further into the shop.

“Just a moment, just a moment,” he heard, though from where, he really couldn’t say. One minute, every one of his senses said he was alone in that building with Bruce, the next there was a presence right behind him that nearly made him drop the cat.

“Superman! What a surprise! Looks like you’ve made a new friend. They wouldn’t happen to be your situation, would they?” Jason asked jovially, giving Bruce a cursory once-over.

“Ah, yes. You wouldn’t happen to recognize this cat, would you?” Clark ventured.

Jason’s eyes narrowed and his thick brows furrowed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and he leaned in close, nearly touching his nose to Bruce’s. Their eyes remained locked for no more than a few moments before his eyes widened and he leaned back, looking at the cat in a new light.

“ _Bruce?_ This is impressive, I’ll admit, even for you.”

Bruce growled lowly and flexed his claws again, but Jason just waved him off.

“Yes, yes, you’re just as intimidating as usual, Cath Palug. Let’s see if we can get you looking like your usual handsome self…” he trailed off thoughtfully, picking through an assortment of crystals and plucking one out that seemed satisfactory. He scooped Bruce out of Clark’s arms and set him on the counter, placing the crystal at his feet before turning and shuffling some jars around, opening one and producing some kind of dried leaf, which he held in front of Bruce’s face.

“Eat that, if you could.”

Bruce’s little nose scrunched up, but he cautiously leaned forward and plucked the herb out of Jason’s hand, swallowing it whole. He made a gagging sound as it went down, but it stayed put, so Jason lifted his hands and began chanting in Latin.

Clark leaned back a bit as the crystal glowed, then covered his eyes when it got to be too bright. There was a yelp and a crash, and by the time the light dimmed, there was no longer a cat on top of the counter, but there _was_ a pair of bare feet sticking up in the air from behind it.

Jason tutted. “You nearly knocked down all my shelves, Bruce. This is why I don’t invite you over more often.”

Bruce uttered something profane as he struggled to right himself, grimacing face and bare torso popping up from behind the counter once he was successful. Clark blushed, and couldn’t decide if he was grateful or annoyed when Jason produced a pair of pants seemingly from nowhere and offered them to his surly friend.

“Thanks a lot,” Bruce grumbled sarcastically, pulling the clothing on in sharp movements and walking out to stand by Clark.

“Always happy to help a friend in need,” Jason replied, smiling wryly when Bruce cussed again and stomped out of the shop. Clark followed him with a quick “Thanks, Jason!” thrown over his shoulder.

“Anytime! You two have a good night now!” Jason yelled back. “And don’t forget to use protection if you decide to get frisky! He may have some residual energy!”

He let himself snicker as he heard the distinct sound of a Kryptonian crashing into a flagpole.


	21. Wearing Your Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another college AU. Loose sequel to “Purpose,” but takes place a few months after that one.

Clark was about ready to pass out. He had been awake since 5:30 this morning, been in classes all day, and what little time he’d had to himself was spent finishing term papers. He really wanted to just curl up in bed and not think about anything else.

The only thing keeping him awake right now was the thought of seeing Bruce tonight. Tuesdays were their weekly movie night, since Bruce’s fencing practice ended later than usual, and he usually just wanted to unwind. They’d been doing this for the last four months now, since Clark managed to coax the stern man into becoming his friend. He always convinced himself that he’d ask him out on a proper date _eventually_ , but he never seemed to find the right timing.

Clark snuggled deeper into his couch, burying his nose in his Metropolis Sharks hoodie and pulling his phone out of the pocket to see if Bruce had texted. He was running unusually late…

A sharp knock on the apartment door immediately quelled Clark’s concerns. “It’s open!” he hollered, shifting so he could see Bruce walk in.

Bruce swung the door open so quickly he nearly smashed it into the wall, but seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped it at the last second. His face was stony and his dark brows were deeply furrowed. Clark reconsidered his greeting for a moment and hesitated before finally asking, “Rough day?”

Bruce closed the door and dropped his duffle bag, silent until he stormed over and flopped face-first into the couch, grumbling into the cushions, his head just next to Clark’s hip.

“C’mon Bruce, you always give me grief when I do this to you. Couch cushions don’t make good megaphones,” he gently teased.

Bruce reluctantly rolled over and tilted his head back to look Clark in the eye. “My teammates decided it would be funny to dump a cooler full of ice and water on me. _In the middle of January_.”

“Ah,” Clark acknowledged. “Well, good thing you had a change of clothes, huh?”

“I _didn’t_ have any extra clothes tonight. _That_ was just the icing on this godawful cake,” Bruce groused, rolling off the couch and stalking over to his duffle bag, zipping it open and rooting around.

“Then how are your clothes dry?” Clark asked, flipping so he could watch Bruce from over the back of the couch.

“They’re not mine. Jason always keeps an extra set in his locker, so I had to borrow his.”

“Jason _Blood_?”

“Yes? What other Jasons do I know, Clark?” he replied, pulling a grocery bag out of his duffle. “ _These_ are my clothes. I’m going to hang them in your bathroom, if you don’t mind. I don’t want them to mildew.”

“Uh, go ahead,” Clark replied distantly. As Bruce silently disappeared into the apartment, Clark’s mind was already going into overdrive.

Jason Blood was one of the only people Bruce had ever _willingly_ called his friend. He was also Bruce’s roommate. Bruce had once told Clark that they’d been friends for years, and also admitted that they’d been something more for a while, but ultimately decided they were better off as something less.

Despite Bruce’s reassurances that he and Jason weren’t together anymore, Clark couldn’t help but wonder. Which also meant he couldn’t help but be a bit jealous wherever Jason was concerned.

Bruce interrupted his sulking by re-emerging from the hallway and gracefully settling on the couch, so close to Clark their thighs were almost touching.

“So what do you have lined up for tonight?” Bruce asked, leaning back and visibly relaxing.

Clark didn’t answer, too preoccupied with taking in Bruce’s outfit. A maroon v-neck shirt that was just a little tight in the biceps, grey sweatpants that were rolled up at the ankles – he should’ve realized none of it belonged to Bruce. If not by the irregular size, then by the amount of color – Clark didn’t think he’d seen Bruce in _any_ shade of red before. His lips thinned as he was gripped by an irrational surge of irritation. He _really_ did not want to look at that shirt anymore…

He blinked when a hand passed through his field of vision a few times, slowly focusing his gaze on Bruce’s amused eyes.

“You there? Maybe we should skip the movie tonight – you seem pretty out of it,” he observed, leaning in close. Clark flushed, prompting Bruce’s brow to crease in concern and press a hand to his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t have a fever or something, Clark?”

“I’m fine!” he hastily reassured, leaning back so quickly he almost fell off the couch. Bruce’s frown deepened, but he leaned back into the cushions, shuddering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Clark asked, suddenly experiencing some concerns of his own.

“Well, I haven’t gotten a warm shower or anything since my dingbat teammates drenched me,” he deflected, avoiding eye contact and rubbing his arms.

Clark considered this for a moment, then proceeded to pull off his sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” Clark said with a grin, “it’s pre-warmed and everything.”

Bruce grumbled a bit, but he grudgingly took the hoodie and slipped it over his head. He looked down at the logo that now spanned his chest and muttered, “I feel like such a traitor…”

“I’m sure the Gotham Knights will forgive you, Bruce,” Clark teased, trying to distract himself from the petty sense of triumph he felt at watching his sweater cover Jason’s shirt.

“It’s not the team I’m worried about, Clark, it’s the _fans_. I think Jason would toss me out the window if I came back to the apartment wearing this,” Bruce chuckled, tucking his hands into the pocket.

Clark had to bite his tongue on a rude comment about what else Jason could toss before he had another thought that brought him up short. Bruce was getting cozy and comfortable in _his_ sweatshirt, sitting with him in _his_ apartment, ready to watch a movie _with Clark_ like they did _every week_. Why on Earth was Clark worried or upset about Jason when Bruce was with _him_ right now? Why were a bunch of _what if_ s about Jason stopping Clark from taking the final step with Bruce?

His mind was made up. Clark grabbed the remote and curled up against Bruce’s side, resting his head on the fencer’s shoulder.

“So Bruce, do you have any plans Friday night?”


	22. Cake Frosting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kid fic! Exists in some nebulous universe where Martha Kent was old friends with the Waynes, so Bruce and Clark grew up as friends. Clark and Bruce are like, eight or so.

“Clark, sweetie, you have to stir the batter slowly. Superspeed is just going to give me a mess to clean up.”

“But if I stir it faster, won’t that mean the cake gets made faster?”

“….if you exert too much force on an object, it can cause displacement of equal force.”

“See sweetheart, listen to Bruce. He usually knows what he’s talking about, right?”

“Bruce hasn’t ever made a cake before though! _We’re_ supposed ta’ be teachin’ him!”

Martha Kent sighed. She knew it was going to be rough having Bruce live with them for the next few weeks while Alfred sorted out the legal mess left behind with the sudden death of the Wayne elders, but she expected _Bruce_ to be the difficult part. For the most part, the boy hadn’t spoken much – really only when he was directly addressed, and even that didn’t guarantee you a response. Clark had been very distressed when his best friend wouldn’t smile, even at Clark’s best joke about the frogs and the raincoat.

Losing her old friends had been hard on Martha, but she could only imagine what it was like for their son, for the one who got left behind, who had to witness such an atrocity and live with the burden of it. She bit back another sigh and turned to her son again.

“Okay, Mr. Batter Expert. We’ll leave you to it. I don’t want a _single drop_ of that on my countertops, you hear?”

“Okay Ma!” he crowed, grabbing the whisk and setting to his task with a comically serious face.

Martha looked down at the silent boy standing next to her and gave him a gentle pat on the head. “And while he’s doing that, _we_ can make the frosting. Sound good?”

Bruce nodded and followed her to the kitchen table, where she had all the supplies laid out. She pulled out a chair for him and moved the bowl in his reach, measuring out the ingredients and handing them to Bruce to mix together. The three of them worked in relative silence for a while, broken only by the sound of Clark’s occasional humming or his whisk hitting the side of the metal bowl.

They managed to get the frosting mixed and put in the fridge and the batter poured into the pan in short order, but there was a bit of a fuss once it was in the oven.

“Why can’t we go play outside Ma? The cake won’t be ready for awhile yet!”

“I know Clark, but it’s getting dark out, and – ”

“…I wanna go look for fireflies.”

Martha startled at hearing Bruce speak unprompted. The boy hadn’t expressed a single desire the entire time he’d been here, and _of course_ when he finally does, she has to shut it down.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, but it’s just not a good idea right now,” she apologized, squatting down so she was at his eye level.

His face pinched slightly. “Why not?”

Martha sighed again. “Well, I don’t want you two out playing in the dark without supervision, Jonathan isn’t home to watch you, and _I_ have to stay in here and watch the cake, so I can’t let you outside right now.”

“That’s a stupid reason,” Bruce decided, his face growing stormier.

“We don’t use that word in this house, Bruce. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I’m afraid that’s the way it is, do you understand?”

“ _Why does it matter!? YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!_ ”

Bruce’s chest was heaving, his lips were quivering, and his little hands were balled up at his sides. His entire body was trembling, though from anger or despair, Martha couldn’t say. She tried to reach out to him, but he spun on his heel and ran, bolting out the back door and thumping off the porch and into the night.

“BRUCE!” Clark cried in alarm. He hesitated, leaning towards the door but looking back at Martha with a panicked, questioning expression.

“Go,” she sighed. “Bruce needs you right now, sweetheart.”

Clark was out the door before she could blink. She heard him call Bruce’s name again, heard the pounding of a pair of feet on the hard-packed earth, then only murmuring as Clark tried to reach out to his friend.

She got up from where she was still squatting on the floor and peeked out one of the windows. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but Clark looked deeply upset, and Bruce…

Oh goodness.

It _was_ dark out, so she may have just been seeing things, but it looked like Bruce was _crying_. Bawling, really. His whole body shuddered with hiccups and his face was occasionally hidden from view as he wiped his arm across it, trying futilely to stem the flow of his tears.

Martha had been at the funeral. She hadn’t left Bruce’s side since this whole mess began. Not once, in that entire time, had she seen or heard this boy cry. At first, she’d chalked it up to shock, then perhaps to denial, but after a few weeks had gone by and he still hadn’t had any kind of outburst, she was really beginning to worry.

Though it broke her heart to see him like this, Martha couldn’t help but think perhaps this would be good for him. He needed to unload, let off a little steam and let someone comfort him.

As she watched her son haltingly shuffle closer before enveloping Bruce in a tight hug, she realized that maybe they could help him weather this storm after all.


	23. Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a BBC Sherlock AU. I wanted to make it longer, but between getting sick and being busy, I just didn't have the time. Sorry y'all.

Clark was working diligently at his laptop, finishing his last article for work in the comfort of his living room when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed heavily as he fished it out, opening his texts and pursing his lips.

_Don’t leave out anything you value. I’m bringing company and they’re proving to be quite unruly._

_B.W._

Clark just rolled his eyes as he set his laptop aside and began gathering his things and bringing them upstairs to his bedroom. When he was quite sure his belongings were safe, he ventured into the kitchen to make sure he’d have tea ready for their guest.

He didn’t have a long wait – Bruce came barging through the door only five minutes later, holding his left arm oddly against his side. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and he looked more displeased than usual.

“Forgot your umbrella again, Bruce?” Clark teased, grabbing a dish towel from the drawer and offering it to the disgruntled detective.

“I didn’t _forget_ it, Clark. I simply misplaced it,” Bruce hedged, accepting the towel and running it over his hair.

“It’s probably still under the couch from the last time you used it and threw it under there in a fit of drama,” Clark remarked, returning to the kitchen to finish the tea.

Bruce was silent, but Clark heard him quietly cross the living room and bend over. He graciously ignored the sounds of something being pulled out from somewhere low to the ground and then hastily stuffed into the umbrella rack.

“So where’s your new friend? Thought you said you’d have company?” Clark asked.

“Here,” Bruce replied shortly, opening the front of his coat and revealing why his arm was being held so strangely.

Carefully bundled up in there was a charcoal grey kitten with bright green eyes, about the size of a teapot and only a little damp.

Clark blinked at it a few times and distantly wondered if they had milk that wasn’t three weeks expired before he finally thought to ask, “ _Why_ do you have a kitten, Bruce?”

“She’s an important part of the case I’ve been working on,” he insisted, carefully extracting the squirming lump of fur from of his coat and wrapping her in the towel. “We should probably start a fire…”

Clark tried his hardest to not smile as he obliged, tossing a couple logs into the fireplace with old newspapers before lighting them up. He moved the grate to cover the flames and wiped his hands on his pants. “How is she related to the case, exactly?”

“Her owner insists she is a very expensive purebred, and they’ve been receiving threats and have reason to believe the kitten is in danger. She’s been entrusted to me for safekeeping until I can locate the perpetrator,” Bruce replied, squatting in front of the fire and replacing the towel with a blanket, bundling up the kitten and setting her close to the warmth.

This time, Clark didn’t fight the huge, soppy grin that spread across his face. Bruce could be difficult to understand sometimes, was occasionally even _more_ difficult to get along with, but the quiet moments like these made the messes worth it.

He walked back to the kitchen and poured a cup of tea for each of them, setting Bruce’s on the side table next to his chair before settling into his own. He watched Bruce soundlessly fuss over the kitten, making sure she was comfortable and drying off, and nearly dropped his cup when he heard Bruce whisper, “Thank you Clark,” without turning around.

Whether he was saying that about the tea, or lighting the fire, or something else entirely, Clark couldn’t say. Never could quite tell, when Bruce was concerned. No matter which he meant, though, Clark knew there was only one appropriate answer.

“Of course, Bruce. Any time.”


	24. Hugging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I have no idea how this one got so long. The Batfam just does that to me, I guess.

“Hey B! I finished those reports you needed! Anything else I can wrap up for ya?” Dick asked brightly, leaning a hip on the Batmobile as Bruce typed away at the Bat-computer.

“No Dick, that’s all for today. Thank you,” Bruce responded absently, eyes not leaving the screen.

Dick blinked a few times before giving a slow, “Ooooooookay,” and quickly making his way upstairs into the manor. He slunk into the kitchen, where Alfred was pulling muffins out of the oven.

“Ah, Master Dick, did you require something?” the butler inquired.

“What’s wrong with Bruce?”

Alfred’s face didn’t so much as twitch, but his pause was just as telling. “I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.”

“Alf, he just _thanked me_. For doing something completely menial. Usually I just get a grunt of acknowledgement.”

“Hmm. What is the date today, Master Dick?”

“Huh?” Dick asked, thrown by the non-sequitur. “Uh, June 21, I think. Why?”

“The anniversary of Master Thomas and Lady Martha’s deaths is this week,” Alfred sadly reminded him.

Dick could have kicked himself. _Of course_. How many years now he’s been living with Bruce and he _still_ had trouble remembering the date. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Well then Alfred, I’d say it’s time for Operation: Ultimate Cheese.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce was standing in the kitchen, blearily staring at the coffee maker as though that would help it go faster. Tim shuffled in and stood at his side, joining his efforts. They stayed there, staring at the machine in silence, for a good ten minutes before it finally beeped and announced that the caffeinated brew was done.

Two mugs were pulled from the cupboards and piping hot liquid was carefully poured into each by a marginally more awake Bruce, who could now at least hold his eyes open after catching a whiff of the fresh beverage. He put the pot back into the machine and slid one of the mugs down the counter to Tim, taking a sip from his own without flinching at the scalding temperature.

“Thanks Bruce,” Tim mumbled, leaning over and wrapping him up in a warm, sleepy hug.

Bruce went still for a moment, but his body made way for higher priorities and he took another sip of coffee, absently patting Tim’s head before the teen pulled away and grabbed his mug, slinking back into the depths of the manor without saying another word.

Bruce finished his cup before pouring himself another and wandering back upstairs to his study. He still wasn’t awake enough to register what had happened, so the incident passed without much fanfare.

 

* * *

 

Later that day, Bruce found himself in the manor library. He’d been doing Wayne Enterprises business all morning, and it had been far more…draining than usual. Too many memories of his father doing the very same thing in the same exact room.

He’d decided a break was in order, and some restless wandering brought him here. His fingers trailed along the spines of books he remembered reading with his mother years ago – _Alice in Wonderland_ , _Winnie the Pooh_ , _The Wind in the Willows_.

He stopped for a moment and took a deep, wobbly breath before a creaking floorboard made him spin on his heel. He relaxed when he recognized Cassandra rounding the end of one of the bookcases.

“Did you want something Cassandra?” he asked, not unkindly. She came closer and began signing _I wanted to continue practicing my speech. Could we use one of the books here?_

“Of course,” Bruce said, gesturing to the shelf, “Pick whichever you like.”

She hesitated for a moment before carefully pulling down the worn copy of _Winnie the Pooh_ , cradling it in her arm as she took Bruce’s hand and guided him to one of the lounges.

After some urging and rearranging, Bruce was laying down with Cassandra curled up between his side and the back of the lounge. She rested her head on his shoulder and set the book on his chest.

_Could you read it to me first? So that I know what it’s supposed to sound like?_

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, but he wordlessly picked up the book and opened it to the first page, holding it so she could see the illustrations. Cassandra snuggled into his side and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing slightly when he paused for too long.

“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.”

 

* * *

 

“…..What is this?”

“Um, a list of all the drug runners in the West District? You’re welcome?” Jason replied, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his leather jacket.

He couldn’t see Bruce’s face properly because of the cowl, but he didn’t need to – Bruce had a way of conveying a raised eyebrow, even with the obstruction. Just like Bruce could tell Jason was giving him a giant bitchface even though he hadn’t taken off the Red Hood helmet.

“I’m going to take your tentative truce at face value and _not_ ask how you got this,” Bruce deadpanned, tucking the stained, rumpled paper into a compartment on his belt.

“Good, looks like you’re learning then,” Jason flippantly shot back, rocking on his heels.

Neither of them made any move to leave for a few minutes, just standing together on the rooftop and listening to the sound of traffic and bustle in the streets below. Jason shifted a bit, stuffing his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. Bruce frowned and was about to remark on his uncharacteristic fidgeting, but he almost swallowed his tongue when Jason abruptly lurched forward and caught him in a tight hug.

They were both a little stiff, but after a moment, Bruce carefully brought his arms up and wrapped them around Jason’s shoulders and they slowly loosened up and relaxed into each other.

Jason buried his face into Bruce’s armored shoulder and whispered, so quietly Bruce almost missed it, “We’re all here, old man. We’re sad when you’re sad, so stop brooding by yourself and talk to us, okay?”

Bruce couldn’t talk past the sudden lump in his throat, so he settled for nodding and squeezing Jason a bit tighter. They enjoyed the contact for a bit longer before pulling apart, both parties avoiding eye contact as they went their separate ways into the night.

 

* * *

 

Bruce got an early start the next morning, going for a quick jog around the gardens that became less quick when he had to stop by his mother’s roses and take a moment to keep himself from breaking down. Consequently, he was fairly wrung-out by the time he finished and made his way towards the spacious patio attached to the house. He planned on dragging himself inside and taking a long shower, but he knew that wasn’t happening the instant he spotted a head of blonde hair carrying a tray out to the patio table.

“Bruce! Good to see you didn’t get lost out there! C’mon, Alfred made us tea and pastries!” Stephanie shouted, smiling as she began transferring dishes from her tray to the table.

Bruce smiled faintly and pulled his shirt up for a moment to wipe his face. Stephanie pulled a chair out for him before seating herself, pouring Bruce a cup of tea and chatting about her new day job and her annoying boss as Bruce slowly sat down and plucked a biscuit from the nearest platter.

He was content to let her carry the conversation for the better part of twenty minutes, occasionally humming or nodding where appropriate, even as his mind wandered. Unbidden, a memory came to him, and before he could think better of it, he blurted, “My mother…”

Stephanie’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, but Bruce didn’t elaborate.

“What about her?” she gently prodded.

Bruce turned his head and looked out at the gardens. “When I was younger, I remember she’d have a lot of tea parties out here. All the who’s who of Gotham’s female elite would come. It was…almost a rite of passage, to be invited to one of Martha Wayne’s morning teas.”

He was paused for a moment, but when he spoke again, it was with more confidence.

“I used to watch from the house, since I wasn’t allowed to actually attend. I always told her how badly I wanted to sit and have a fancy morning tea with them, but she’d always tell me what boring company those ladies were. ‘Dreadful at conversation, really,’ were her exact words,” he said, smiling faintly.

“So instead, she decided we could have our own tea. After that, every Tuesday morning, while my father was at work, we would come out here and have tea together. Just the two of us,” he paused again, swallowing audibly before admitting, “Those are some of my most vivid memories of her.”

Stephanie’s eyes were damp, tears clinging to her lashes, but she smiled and rose from her chair, coming behind Bruce and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his hair.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Bruce,” she whispered. “That was lovely.”

He was quiet for a moment, still staring out at the gardens, before he dared to whisper back, “Yes. Yes it was.”

 

* * *

 

“Good to see you, Bruce. Come to associate with the plebs?”

“How else could they continue their dreary existence without my wonderful personality to lift their spirits, Katherine?”

“Ugh, are you still going to do this to me? It’s _Kate_.”

“I’ll call you ‘Kate’ when you stop being annoyed by ‘Katherine.’ Or would you prefer ‘Ms. Kane?’”

The redhead glared murderously at Bruce, but he ignored it with practiced grace and caught the waitress’ attention so he could order a cup of coffee. It was about all he could stomach at this diner they met at every month or so. He swore Kate purposely picked one that used more grease in their food than every bad taco cart in Metropolis combined.

“Anyways, wasn’t there something you wanted me to look at?” he deflected.

Her glare softened, but traces of it lingered at her brow as she pulled a manila folder out of her bag and slid it across the table.

“I picked up some interesting leads on that Falcone case, but a few of them seem to have hit dead ends. I think someone with your resources can sniff out the trail again.”

Bruce hummed in response, picking up the folder and giving its contents a cursory once-over before tucking it into his own briefcase. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“That’s all I ask,” she replied easily, taking a moment to thank the waitress as her food was placed on the table.

“I’ll let you eat in peace. I have another errand to run, so I can’t linger,” Bruce admitted, finishing his coffee and fishing a few bills out of his wallet.

“When are you gonna let me pay for my own breakfast?” she asked through a mouthful of hash browns.

“When I stop being a billionaire,” he deadpanned, lips only quirking slightly at Kate’s annoyed expression. He left the cash on the table and rose from the booth, grabbing his briefcase and taking a few steps towards the door.

“Bruce.”

He stopped and turned back towards Kate, who had also gotten out of the booth and now stood much closer than Bruce was expecting. She gave him a brief, firm hug before stepping back and smiling.

“Have a good day, Bruce.”

He gave her a small smile in return.

“You too, Kate.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce walked down the street, occasionally jostling people around him on the crowded sidewalks as he left the diner behind and made his way to his next destination – an inconspicuous apartment building several blocks away.

He walked up the front steps and rang the buzzer, waiting until a familiar voice came over the intercom.

“Running a little late there, B. Kate keep you busy?”

“No more than usual. Just enjoyed the walk,” he replied easily.

“Good. You could stand to get out and enjoy yourself a little more often,” she reprimanded as the bolt unlatched on the door. “Come on up. I’ve got everything ready to go.”

Bruce pulled the heavy wooden door open and let it swing shut behind him as he entered the stairwell, going up four flights before exiting into the hallway and stopping in front of a familiar door. He knocked and waited for the muffled “It’s open!” before turning the knob and stepping inside.

“Took your time on the stairs, Bruce. Getting winded?” Barbara teased, wheeling herself over to where Bruce was settling on the couch.

“Don’t bet on it,” he shot back, putting his briefcase in his lap and opening it up. Barbara leaned forward in anticipation as he rooted around, making a small noise of triumph as he produced a small CPU chip.

“And here you are, as promised. Should be able to handle significantly heavier loads than your current hardware,” Bruce said, handing it over.

“You’re the best, B!” she gushed, leaning in and giving him a quick peck on the cheek before wheeling over to the concealed cupboard at the far end of the apartment, disappearing inside and humming an upbeat tune accompanied by the sounds of screws and metal plates falling to the ground.

“Feel free to eat whatever you can find in the fridge! I know you refuse to eat at that diner!” she hollered.

Bruce smiled and shook his head, but didn’t move from his spot on the couch. He grabbed the envelope Kate had given him earlier and began flipping through it again, trying to see what issues she’d encountered.

He lost himself in calculations and strategies long enough that the sun was now high in the sky and Barbara was parked in front of him again. Her laughter broke his concentration and he finally looked up from the sheaf of papers.

“Got it all figured out yet?” she asked lightly.

“If only,” Bruce sighed, tucking the envelope away again.

She smiled, but her face gradually fell until her expression was more somber. She came in close, and Bruce put his arms out for what he knew was coming. Barbara held him tightly, rubbing a hand along his back in soothing strokes, and he returned her firm embrace.

“Don’t be a stranger, Bruce. You’re welcome to come by _any time_ ,” she asserted.

“You may regret giving me that level of freedom,” he teased, though they could both hear the undercurrent of insecurity in the statement.

“Hmm. Somehow, I doubt that,” she disagreed lightly.

After she released him, Barbara managed to convince Bruce to stay for lunch before he took off again. They spent the better part of the afternoon making sandwiches and discussing the processing power of up-and-coming CPU models.

Bruce didn’t even notice the faint smile that never left his lips.

 

* * *

 

The cave echoed with the resounding smack of a body hitting the sparring mat.

“Again.”

A short scuffle. Another smack.

“Again.”

Damian huffed and gracefully rose from the floor, bringing his hands up and dropping his stance before lunging at his father.

Bruce blocked a quick strike to his midsection and the follow-up blow to his inner thigh. His leg shot out and swept Damian’s from under him, landing him on his back again.

“That’s enough for right now. Do you see what you’re leaving open?” Bruce asked, offering his son a hand.

“Yes Father. I focused too much on using my upper body. I need to remember to utilize my lower body as well and make sure I’m conscious of my opponent’s ability to turn my movements against me,” Damian dutifully responded, accepting the proffered hand and pulling himself up with Bruce’s help.

“Good. Go ahead and shower off then. You still need to finish your homework,” he reminded the boy, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “You did well today, Damian. You’re showing a lot of improvement. Keep up the good work.”

Damian flushed slightly before nodding sharply. Bruce nodded in return and released Damian’s shoulder, turning to go shower off himself.

“Father.”

Bruce stopped and looked back at his son, who hadn’t moved an inch and looked deeply conflicted. He opened his mouth a few times, only to close it again, as though reconsidering his words. Finally, he blurted out, “What was Grandfather like?”

Bruce blinked uncomprehendingly. “I think _you_ lived with Ra’s longer than I did, Damian,” he pointed out.

“No, not him,” Damian said impatiently, “ _your_ father. Thomas Wayne. What…what was he like?” he finished weakly.

Bruce tried his best to not balk. “You’ve…never expressed an interest before.”

Damian shifted a bit and stared at his feet, muttering, “You did not seem fond of recalling such memories, so I thought it would be best to avoid the subject. But recently, I read that it can be beneficial to…talk about happier times spent with missing loved ones, to talk about what you liked about them, what made them special to you.”

His eyes darted to Bruce’s face for a split second before he rushed forward, hugging Bruce’s torso and burying his face there.

“And I want to know more about the man who raised you. About the grandfather I never got to meet,” he added, voice muffled by Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce smiled softly and embraced his son.

“Well, for one thing, he had an _awful_ sense of humor. Are you familiar with the concept of ‘Dad Jokes’?”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve been busy lately, haven’t you?”

Dick is proud to say that he didn’t jump when Bruce appeared behind him suddenly on the balcony. However, he is less proud that he _did_ shriek loud enough to make some of the guests in the manor turn to look outside for a moment before resuming their conversations.

“Jesus Bruce, save the jump scares for October, huh?” he gasped, smoothing out his tuxedo so he had something to do with his hands.

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow and leaned his forearms on the balcony railing, looking out at the manor’s sprawling grounds and the bright lights of the Gotham skyline in the distance.

“How’d you escape the crowd in there anyways? Isn’t this gala one of the biggest ones you hold all year?” Dick asked, trying to fill the quiet which he suspected didn’t bode well for him.

Bruce hummed. “You’d be surprised how few people really care about an empty-headed moron like Brucie.”

“Hey now – ”

“And how few of them care enough to remember what time of the year it is.”

Dick instantly clammed up, biting the inside of his cheek and looking at his polished shoes feeling like he was ten all over again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

Admittedly, he was nervous, because there were several ways Bruce could take this, and few of them went well. He didn’t appreciate meddling _or_ being coddled, and Dick had technically done both.

He startled a bit when another pair of feet strode into his field of vision, but he gathered his courage and lifted his head to look Bruce in the eye.

He inhaled sharply when he saw how warm Bruce’s gaze was, when he saw the kind curve of his smile. Bruce bridged the gap and stepped forward again, bringing his arms around Dick and pulling him close.

“Thank you, Dick. I know you were the one who rallied everyone this week. It must have been difficult, getting even Jason in on it,” he paused, then quietly continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt happy or content within a week on either side of the night my parents died. For years, I’ve just accepted the pain, accepted the grief, and forced myself to muddle through it alone. Thank you for making sure I didn’t have to do that this year.”

Dick bit his lip, but it didn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as he fiercely hugged Bruce back.

“I’m sorry you had to do it that way for so long Bruce. You never have to do it that way again. _Never_. You didn’t _ever_ let me suffer alone when I was missing _my_ parents, and what kind of shitty son would I be if I couldn’t return the favor?” he sobbed, burying his face in Bruce’s neck.

Bruce felt tears of his own gathering at the corners of his eyes and let them fall freely as he firmly replied, “You would be _my_ son, and I would still be thankful to have you in my life.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce kneeled in the grass, carefully setting the bouquet of sunflowers between the two headstones. He didn’t speak. He rarely did when he visited them.   

He looked up when he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder. Alfred smiled sadly, offering a small bouquet of poppies to Bruce. He took them and placed them next to the sunflowers, admiring them for a moment before standing back up.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as he looked at the headstones one last time, turning away when the pain became too much to bear. Silently, Alfred reached up and guided Bruce’s head to rest on his shoulder, leaving his hand in Bruce’s hair while his other arm wrapped protectively around his charge’s shoulders.

Bruce took one more wobbly breath, and the floodgates opened. For the first time in years, he cried. He cried, he sobbed, he howled, he trembled, and he clung to Alfred like a lifeline.

Like a little boy whose world was torn to pieces and had nobody left to help him make sense of it.

 


	25. Piggy Back Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a Hogwarts AU. I'm so close to getting caught up again, guys. Just wait for me...

“Hey, isn’t that the Wayne kid?”

“Looks like it. Punk needs to be taught a lesson.”

Clark’s head swiveled as he heard whispers and shouting further down the corridor. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he began sprinting to the source of the sound, his cloak billowing behind him. He skidded around a corner and dashed out into the courtyard, nearly gasping at the sight.

There was a ring of older kids circled around someone, all of them jeering and taunting, occasionally kicking the kid in the middle. Clark tried to calm his pounding heart as he rushed forward, breaking through the wall of people and barging into the center of the circle. Sure enough, there was Bruce, flat on his back, bruised, and glaring at them with unparalleled fury.

“Oh shoot,” Clark muttered, ignoring the confused cries of the older kids. “Are you okay, B?”

“Just peachy Clark,” he drawled, groaning as he sat up.

“Why would they – ”

“Because I’m ‘haughty’ and ‘snobbish’ and ‘look at people like I think they’re scum,’” Bruce imitated, rolling his eyes.

“But…that’s just what your face _always_ looks like,” Clark said, face pinching in confusion.

“You think I don’t know? Try telling _them_ that,” Bruce groused, waving an arm at the assembled students, who were finally getting tired of being ignored.

 “What’s a Gryffindor doin’ helpin’ a Slytherin? Who do you think you are, kid!?” one of them yelled, stepping closer.

“ _I’m_ his best friend. Now back off and leave him alone, or you’re gonna wish he was the only one mad at you,” Clark warned, moving to stand between Bruce and the older kids.

“Psh. Look at this pipsqueak. Thinks he can take us on. C’mon kid, you can’t have passed three charms classes,” another boy taunted.

“I didn’t say anything about charms.”

With no further warning, Clark launched himself at the boy and punched him in the gut, causing him to double over and wheeze.

“I’ll say it one more time. Leave. Him. Alone,” Clark growled.

The kids hesitated, weighing their chances, but eventually they just huffed and stormed off. Clark didn’t relax until each and every one of them had gone back inside the castle, but before he could turn to check on Bruce, the Slytherin hissed in pain.

“What hurts, B?” he fretted, dropping to his knees and reaching out to help his friend stand.

“I think they broke my ankle. One of them stomped on it and I think I heard a crack,” he admitted, leaning heavily on Clark’s side.

Clark’s brows pinched in consideration, but after a moment, he turned around and kneeled down in front of Bruce.

“…What are you doing?”

“Climb on!” Clark chirped. “We’ve gotta get you to the infirmary.”  

“I don’t need to be _carried_ , Clark.”

“Well, we can get there a lot faster this way. Maybe I’m not patient enough to help you hobble up all the stairs,” he teased, giving shooting Bruce a cheeky smile over his shoulder.

Bruce grumbled, but reluctantly shifted and settled until his arms were wrapped around Clark’s shoulders.

“Okay, here we go,” Clark said, hooking his arms around Bruce’s thighs and standing. He paused for a moment, then blurted, “Wow, do you weigh _anything_?”

Bruce flushed a bit, grateful Clark couldn’t see it. “We can’t all be naturally build like a brick shithouse, Kent.”

“No no, that’s what I’m saying. You _are_ built, Bruce. I know for a fact you work out in your free time. You have muscle. So how are you so easy to lift??” Clark marveled, hitching Bruce up a bit higher on his back. “It’s like carrying a couple of grapes.”

“Alright, I get it, you said something about the infirmary?” Bruce snapped, trying to tamp down his darkening blush.

“Sorry, yeah I’m going,” Clark replied distractedly, taking off at a quick trot. He was quiet for about five minutes before he mumbled, “Seriously though, _how_?”

“Clark, I swear, if you say another word, I’m putting flobberworms in your bedsheets.”

Clark just looked over his shoulder and smiled.

“Sure thing Bruce. Whatever you say.”


	26. Aliens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally caught up again. Sweet lord. 
> 
> This one's an AU where Krypton never blew up, and the Justice League formed as usual, just sans Superman.

Bruce stifled another sigh and fought the urge to fidget. He’d been standing here on some godforsaken asteroid with the other founding members of the JL for over two hours, waiting for the Kryptonian emissary that had contacted them seeking assistance. Apparently, their military was staging a coup, led by a man named Zod, and the rest of the populace was ill-equipped to defend themselves, so they had to seek outside help, hence the distress signal.

But at this point, Bruce didn’t care if it was the emissary, Lex Luthor, or Jesus Christ himself, if he had to waste another minute on this desolate rock, he was going to take the Javelin and leave, teammates be damned.

He thought he was doing an okay job of concealing his impatience, but apparently it wasn’t as good as he’d hoped – Hal’s lips quirked as he asked, “What’s got you so twitchy, Spooky? I know you worship at the altar of punctuality and precise schedules, but this guy’s probably not gonna be in any kind of shape to be rushing anywhere. His ship sounded pretty damaged in his last transmission.”

“I’m aware, Lantern,” he hissed, “that doesn’t mean I appreciate it when I’m forced to wait in deep space when I could be doing more productive things back at the Watchtower.”

“Ah! There’s another ‘p’!” Hal exclaimed. “’Punctuality, Precision, and Productivity: The Three P’s of Success, A Self-Help Guide, as penned by Batman.’ Or would you want to use a pseudonym for that?”

Hal was saved from being strangled by the sound of a ship in the distance. It lurched into sight and wobbled dangerously before landing heavily, making odd noises. A hatch slid open and someone carefully climbed out, but it was nothing like what Bruce was expecting.

He’d never dealt with Kryptonians before, so he assumed they’d be another stereotypical sci-fi mess of limbs and bright colors. The only bright colors on this man were the flowing blue robes that cascaded down his body, with some kind of crest in red and gold on the chest. His overall appearance was humanoid, but _oh_ , he wasn’t like any human Bruce had ever met.

His eyes were a bright, clear blue, burning with determination despite the state of his homeworld. His face was incredibly handsome, all sharp angles and chiseled jawlines, and his dark hair was all pushed back except for one curl that had escaped and rested on his forehead. He adjusted a piece of technology in his ear and slowly asked, “Can you understand me right now?”

“Read you loud and clear,” Barry assured him.

“Ah, good. I had to grab a random translator on my way out, so I wasn’t sure if it was faulty or not,” he sighed, relief softening his expression. “I am Kal-El of Krypton. Thank you for meeting me here.”

Bruce was glad he wasn’t the usual spokesperson for the League – after hearing that melodic voice, he found himself a little tongue-tied.

“It is our pleasure,” Diana assured the Kryptonian, stepping forward and inclining her head. “I am Wonder Woman, and my teammates here are Flash, Green Lantern, Cyborg, Aquaman, Shazam, and Batman,” she said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

“I see…” Kal replied faintly, gaze flitting up and down Bruce’s body before he returned his attention to Diana. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning then…”

As he explained the current situation back on Krypton and how he was going to get them past Zod’s sensors, Bruce made sure he was paying attention to the information he was receiving and not the way Kal’s lips curled around certain words, or the way his hands moved as he gestured. It distantly occurred to him that he might be in trouble, but a shy glance from Kal mid-speech forced him to reevaluate.

He was most certainly in trouble.


	27. Photography

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, have some nice, relaxing schmoop to get you through your day.

Bruce’s internal clock woke him at 7 that morning, but he didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes. He didn’t have anywhere to be today, had nothing pressing to do, no meetings or stakeouts or galas. Just him and Clark and the bed and –

*click*

Bruce’s drowsy mind struggled to comprehend what that noise was. It was definitely unusual, especially in his bedroom, but what –

*click*

A…shutter? A camera shutter? _It’s too early for this_ , Bruce thought as he buried his face into the pillow. There was a muffled chuckle and another click as the shutter went off again. Bruce groaned.

“Clark, what the hell?” he tried to ask, but since his face was smushed into his pillow, it came out more like “Cllrk, wuh th hew?”

The Kryptonian seemed to understand him anyways, since he laughed again and began running his fingers along Bruce’s exposed shoulder blades. “I just…”

When he trailed off and didn’t continue, Bruce lifted his head and opened his eyes.

*click*

“DAMMIT CLARK.”

Clark gave him a cheeky grin from behind a Canon EOS, taking another picture while Bruce groused.

“How do you even own a camera that nice? Last I checked, you don’t get paid enough for that,” Bruce grumbled, flopping back down onto the bed.

“Oh, it’s not mine. Jimmy let me borrow it for an assignment I had earlier this week. I’m bringing it back to him on Monday,” Clark replied sunnily, lowering it into his lap for a moment to fiddle with the settings.

“Okay, more importantly, why are you taking pictures of me at…” he squinted at the clock on his nightstand. “7:16 in the morning?”

Clark went quiet again, not looking up from the camera. When Bruce started thinking he’d never get an answer, Clark softly murmured, “There’s a lot of times when I just can’t believe that someone as wonderful and amazing as you decided they wanted to love me, but I mostly think that in the mornings. On those rare occasions when I’m awake before you, and I can just watch the sunlight dance through your hair and caress your skin. I know my memory’s good enough that I’ll never forget what it looks like, what it _feels_ like to share these mornings with you, but sometimes I want something a little more concrete. So that on the mornings I wake up alone, I can know without a doubt that they aren’t dreams or fantasies I’ve dwelled on too many times. That they’re _real_ and _precious_ and something I can’t live without.”

Bruce watched Clark as he spoke, watched his face become infinitely tender and his eyes slowly drift from his lap up to Bruce’s face. By the end of his confession, he was smiling in that soft, private way he did when they were alone together, causing Bruce’s heart to twist painfully in his chest. He pulled one of his hands out from under the sheets and reached across the bed, twining his fingers with Clark’s when the Kryptonian reached out in return. They stayed like that for a while, just sharing the silence and each other’s company, before Bruce spoke again.

“If you’re using such a nice camera, I better not see these blown up and hanging in your living room.”

Clark snorted. “Darn, you saw right through me. I thought it’d be selfish to keep them to myself, so I was going to share with my guests.”

“And no sending any to your mother. Woman has too much dirt on me as it is.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that. She _would_ probably appreciate them…”

Clark laughed again as Bruce grabbed a pillow and tossed it at his head, not bothering to dodge and letting it hit him with a soft thump. He set the camera aside and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce and peppering his face and neck with little kisses, making Bruce squirm and laugh. Clark smiled into Bruce’s neck and pressed a long, lingering kiss there while his hands began drifting down the sculpted body beneath him and turning Bruce’s laughter into breathless moans.

Both of his threats had been entirely empty, of course. There’s no way he’d share this part of Bruce with anyone. On these mornings, Bruce was _his_. That soft face, the sleep-ruffled hair, all of it was Clark’s privilege to witness, his privilege to touch.

Because the photographs would be nice, but nothing could replace Bruce’s warmth as Clark held him in his arms.


	28. Starry Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a Voltron: Legendary Defender AU! And also not SuperBat, but Diana/Bruce/Clark. What's that called? Trinity or something? Whatever it's called, that's the ship for this drabble.

The celebration was officially in full swing. Another planet was liberated from Zarkon’s grasp, so the paladins of Voltron were hailed as heroes and had a massive feast held in their honor that very night. Hal and Barry, as usual, were eating up the attention, standing on a table and singing an off-key pop song for a captive audience. Clark and Diana were certainly amused, but as they scanned the crowd and noticed a distinct lack of cobalt eyes, they found they had bigger concerns.

They quietly rose from their seats and left the banquet hall, winding through the enormous complex until they found an exit to a quiet, secluded garden, tucked at the top of a sheer cliff that dropped into the ocean below. The distant sound of waves crashing against the rock, combined with the soft glow of the alien flowers blooming on the hedges, made for a beautiful, relaxing environment, but none of it caught their attention like the lone figure laying in the grass, flat on their back and gazing up at the stars.

They met eyes for a brief moment before approaching Bruce and laying down on either side of him, Clark to his left and Diana to his right. For a long time, nobody spoke. They just lay there together, staring at the night sky and admiring the stars.

“One hundred billion.”

Clark and Diana blinked.

“That’s the _minimum_ number of stars estimated to be in the Milky Way Galaxy,” Bruce continued. “The high end numbers somewhere around four hundred billion.”

He was quiet again for a moment, then, in a voice laced with anguish, whispered, “Four hundred _billion_ stars, and I can’t see a single one of them from here.”

Clark and Diana felt their hearts twist painfully in their chests. It was a well-known fact that Bruce missed Earth the most out of the five of them. Well, maybe not “missed” so much as “had a lot of urgent unfinished business there.” He usually seemed pretty underwhelmed about being on alien planets and in deep space, so they just assumed he had better things to do back on Earth.

But sometimes, in moments like these, when it was just the three of them, Bruce reminded them that he truly did miss his home. He ached for Earth in a way none of the rest of the paladins ever did, in a way none of them could really understand. Most of them either had relatively nomadic lifestyles or a natural yearning for adventure that was now fulfilled, but Bruce’s family had been living in Gotham for _generations_. His whole life, his whole _legacy_ , was invested in that city, and now he was cast off into space with a bunch of miscreants who probably couldn’t trace their family tree back to the founding of their hometown the way he could.

They each took a deep breath and tentatively reached out for Bruce’s hands. He tensed for a moment, but slowly relaxed and let them slip a hand into each of his. Their twined fingers rested in the grass between their bodies. Clark rubbed his thumb in soothing circles and carefully considered his next words.

“I know…I know we aren’t exactly what you need out here, Bruce. We can’t anchor you the same way Gotham can. I don’t think _anything_ can. But I…I want to _try_ ,” he breathed. “Bruce, I want to help, because it kills me to see you looking so lost.”

“It’s hard for both of us,” Diana chimed in. “Hal has Barry, and Clark and I have each other, but you weren’t quite as close with any of us. So I understand if you’re feeling…lonely, or excluded. But we don’t want you feel this way, Bruce. You don’t _have_ to feel this way.”

Bruce didn’t answer, but he gave each of their hands a tentative squeeze, bringing a smile to both their faces.

“I know it’s going to be hard, but we’ll be here for you every step of the way, Bruce,” Clark assured him, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lean in and press a kiss to Bruce’s cheek.

Diana mirrored his posture and kissed Bruce’s other cheek, adding, “We’re your teammates. We’re your _friends_. And hopefully we’re something a bit more. But no matter what, you are important to us, and we want you to be happy.”

Bruce’s face was pinched, but it was in a way they realized meant he was trying not to cry. They both smiled and laughed, leaning down to pepper Bruce’s face with kisses, much to his feigned consternation. Then the kisses began to linger and land closer to his mouth, drawing breathy sighs from his lips.

The three of them spent the rest of the night laying in the garden together, exchanging lazy kisses and holding each other close under the soft glow of the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one that I have a much bigger universe for, so if anybody ships the Trinity and also likes Voltron, let me know! I'll probably write that series if people express interest.


	29. Butt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's outfit in this one is entirely taken from [these](http://bhucewayne.tumblr.com/post/142741776211/mikel-janins-test-sheet-for-batman) [panels](http://mynamesnightwing.tumblr.com/post/145255801440/mister-wayne-when-its-137-degrees-in-gotham) in Batman Rebirth #1. Thank you, Mikel Janin.

Clark groaned as he quietly landed on the back lawn of Wayne Manor. Gotham was in the middle of its worst heat wave in years, and even his Kryptonian constitution was having trouble holding up under the high temperatures and stifling humidity. He was glad he’d ditched his costume – he didn’t think he’d be able to peel the spandex off in his present condition.

He quickly retreated into the house, hoping to find some relief from the heat, but was disappointed when the temperature change was minimal. Alfred strolled by, impeccable as always, his only concession to the weather being a lack of a suit jacket and rolled up sleeves.

“Master Bruce is down in the cave, sir,” he said as he produced a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses from seemingly nowhere and offered it to Clark.

Clark thanked him in passing and took the tray before trudging to the grandfather clock, retreating down the hidden staircase and into the muggy depths below.

Though it _was_ noticeably cooler down here, the humidity was significantly worse. Clark had the unpleasant sensation of taking a sip of water every time he drew a breath. He could hear grunting down in the training area, but he wasn’t terribly surprised – Bruce was probably doing some kind of weird endurance training so he could hold up under extreme temperatures.

He wandered over in that direction, pointedly _not_ looking at the weather stats pulled up on one of the monitors, and set the tray down on one of the few uncluttered flat surfaces in the cave.

“Hey Bruce, Alfred made lem – ”

He nearly bit his own tongue when he finally looked up and actually saw Bruce, or more specifically, Bruce’s outfit.

Granted, with the temperature and humidity being what they were, it made sense. It was practical. You wouldn’t exercise in long pants and a tee shirt in this kind of weather. But _nothing_ could have prepared Clark for the sight of Bruce Wayne doing one-armed push-ups in nothing but sneakers, socks, and tight black…well, _booty shorts_ was really the only way to describe them.

His eyes didn’t know where to look first. They wanted to linger on the planes of scarred skin, but the tantalizing flexing of Bruce’s muscles also demanded his attention, especially when a bead of sweat began crawling down his back, following every curve and dip of muscle along the way. His wandering gaze came to a halt at the scrap of fabric around Bruce’s hips, clinging to the sculpted cheeks underneath.

Now, Clark was far from the first person to appreciate this particular part of Bruce’s anatomy – some gossip rag had rated Bruce’s bottom the “Most Delicious Derriere in Gotham” a few years back – but he couldn’t help but think he had a special appreciation for it. He knew how much Bruce worked to keep himself in top physical shape, which meant he also knew exactly how much work went into making that ass as tight and shapely as it was. Of course, Bruce did it so he didn’t get himself killed on patrol, not to make his ass look like it was carved from marble, but since both happened _anyways_ , Clark saw no harm in appreciating the bonus.

He forced himself to take a deep breath when he realized he wasn’t breathing, and focused in time to see Bruce tossing him a curious look over his shoulder without pausing his workout.

“Er, sorry, did you say something?” Clark asked, trying to organize his frayed thoughts into something slightly coherent.

“I _did_ ask what you brought in with you, but now I feel like I should be asking about your health,” Bruce drawled, holding himself up on one fully-extended arm for a moment before pulling his feet up underneath him and squatting, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Clark had to stifle a groan when the movement made his ass flex under the snug fabric. Bruce quirked an eyebrow, but gracefully rose and crossed the room with quick strides to join Clark. The cave was silent except for Bruce’s heavy, measured breaths. His eyes narrowed and locked with Clark’s, who nervously returned his stare until the billionaire finally asked, “Really Clark, are you not feeling well? You seem…distracted.”

“Uh, I’m fine. Just the, ah, heat, you know?” he stuttered, keeping his hands busy and avoiding Bruce’s gaze by turning to pour each of them a glass of lemonade.

Bruce’s lips turned down slightly at the corners as he plucked a glass off the tray. “I thought the sunlight healed and recharged you? You’ve never complained when you’ve flown things _directly into the sun_.”

Clark bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Bruce take a long gulp of his lemonade, eyes glued to the bobbing of his throat. “Well, you know, the humidity is…it makes it unpleasant. There’s…no humidity on the sun.”

“True. I’m sure the surface of the sun would be preferable to the weather in Gotham today,” Bruce groused, grabbing a towel and slowly wiping himself off, forcing Clark to ruthlessly stifle the urge to moan again.

“It’s…not so bad, usually,” Clark agreed, gaze helplessly falling back to Bruce’s rear as the billionaire turned and tossed the towel into a hamper.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Bruce responded wryly, gaze darting over his shoulder for a moment before he slowly bent over to untie his shoes.

“Okay, _that_ was on purpose!” Clark accused, though his eyes remained glued to Bruce’s ass.

“Might’ve been,” Bruce teased, kicking off his shoes and straightening back up. “What are you going to do about it?”

Clark gaped for a moment, but Bruce turning to walk away with a slight sashay to his hips moved him to action. He sped forward and scooped the billionaire up, taking him upstairs into his bedroom and dropping him on the bed in the space of a few seconds. Bruce laughed breathlessly and leaned back into the pillows, stretching his arms above his head and shooting Clark a heated look through his eyelashes.

The shorts, unfortunately, didn’t survive their afternoon activities, but as he was basking in the afterglow, head resting on Clark’s chest, Bruce made a mental note to order a dozen new pairs.


	30. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's another no powers AU. Firefighter Clark, policeman Bruce. Enjoy!

“Okay, so Godzilla vs a kaiju from _Pacific Rim_ , who would win?”

“Dick, _why_ are you doing this again?”

“Because you didn’t answer last time, Bruce. It’s an important question.”

Bruce sighed again and didn’t dignify that with a response. His partner was competent, kept a cool head in the field, even in the middle of a shootout, but his maturity could use some work. Even though the kid had been on the Gotham Police Force for two years now, he still found time to ask Bruce asinine questions that usually didn’t make much sense, especially at times like these, when they were in the car and out on patrol in the dead of night.

“Sooooo, Godzilla or kaiju?”

“ _Dick_.”

Before Bruce could launch into an exasperated tirade, their radio crackled to life.

“ _Calling all units, we have reports of an arsonist at 5 th and Madison. All units converge._”

“Hey, that’s like ten blocks away!” Dick cried.

Bruce grunted in response and turned on the siren, taking a hard left at the next intersection. He sped down the crowded roadway until he came to their destination – a dilapidated old apartment complex. As they came to a screeching halt at the curb, Dick leapt out of the car and cried, “Hands up where I can see ‘em!”

Bruce joined him and instantly spotted the arsonist – a young man who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Unfortunately, he ignored Dick’s command and fled, trying to go around the back of the building and into the alleys. Bruce was on him in an instant, tackling him to the ground and pulling out cuffs in one smooth motion.

“B, we got a problem!” Dick hollered from the sidewalk.

Bruce grabbed the suspect by the back of his hooded jacket and dragged him out to join his partner, assessing the situation and quickly understanding what Dick meant.

They hadn’t gotten there in time – the back of the apartments was already ablaze, and residents were beginning to flood out. Bruce gritted his teeth, but quickly tossed the arsonist in the squad car and grabbed the radio.

“This is Officer Wayne. We’ve got a fire at the Winter Gardens apartments on 5th and Madison. We need a truck out here _now_.”

“ _Copy that, Wayne,_ ” the dispatcher’s voice responded, “ _we’ve got couple on the way_.”

With that, Bruce left the car and sprinted back to the building, joining Dick’s efforts to evacuate the residents. They both made a few precarious runs to help some elderly people out of their homes, but reemerged with nothing worse than a few streaks of soot. They’d gotten just about everyone out when Bruce heard a little girl scream on the second floor.

“Shit. I’m going back in, Dick. Get these people out of the way so the firefighters have room to work,” he ordered, dashing back into the crumbling inferno. He vaguely heard his partner shouting something at him, but it was soon lost to the roar of the flames engulfing the building. He quickly made his way up the nearest stairwell, covering his mouth with the top of his uniform shirt as he stepped out into the second floor hallway.

“Anyone up here!?” he shouted. A raspy, small “Help,” came from behind a closed door to his right. Bruce braced himself and kicked in the crumbling door, quickly spotting the little blonde-haired girl curled up in the corner of the kitchenette. He kneeled at her side and quietly asked, “May I pick you up?”

At her answering nod, he scooped her into his arms and made for the doorway. He got them into the hallway and was just about to reenter the stairwell when he heard an ominous creaking from above. He looked up just in time to see the timbers of the ceiling come crashing down. He lunged for the stairwell entrance, holding his arms out in front of his body so the little girl landed safely inside. Bruce himself wasn’t quite so fortunate.

The beams landed on his back and his legs, pinning him to the floor. He carefully tried to move his legs and hissed when white hot pain shot through both. Great. Something was definitely broken in a few places. A quiet whimper broke through the haze of his rising panic and he remembered the girl that was still shaking in his arms. He took a shallow breath and met her terrified gaze, speaking in his calmest, most soothing tones.

“Listen, I need you to do something for me okay?” he asked gently, waiting until she nodded before continuing. “I can’t move right now, but _you_ still need to get out of here. You need to go downstairs and leave through the front of the building, okay?”

“But wha’ about you?” she asked, eyes wide and voice trembling.

“I’ll be okay for now. If you see a fireman out front, you can tell them where I am, right?”

She nodded again, biting her lip before standing up and dashing for the stairs.

“I’ll tell them where you are! I promise!” she cried before disappearing down the smoke-filled stairwell.

Bruce smiled softly, but he already knew his chances of getting out now were slim. If the upper floors were collapsing, it wouldn’t be long before the floor under him would give way too, especially with the added debris. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and the heat was searing his exposed skin. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the floor.

He thought of Dick, standing out on the sidewalk, probably watching in horror as the child came out alone. Hopefully he didn’t do something stupid and try to rush in here himself. That kid had a bright future – he would make a great detective one day. It would be a shame if he threw it away trying to save his bull-headed partner.

Bruce took one more shuddering breath, listening to the building fall to pieces around him. Distantly, he could hear an uproar outside. Maybe the fire department made it after all…

 

* * *

 

“ –y. Hey. Wake up, officer. I need you to wake up!”

Bruce startled. He must have passed out at some point. He found the energy to lift his head and look at whoever was talking. It faintly registered that it must’ve been one of the firefighters, but the first thought to enter his smoke-addled mind was _Wow, what a gorgeous pair of eyes._

They were the clearest blue he’d ever seen, and filled with concern as dark brows furrowed over them. When Bruce showed signs of consciousness, they cleared and Bruce was on the receiving end of the loveliest smile he’d had the pleasure of meeting.

“Thank goodness. A little girl came rushing out saying you were trapped up here. Are you injured?” the firefighter asked, lifting his gaze to look at the pile of timbers trapping the officer.

Bruce forced the fog from his mind and croaked, “My legs. Both are broken, somewhere. Can’t get out from under here. Couldn’t walk even if I did.”

The fireman hummed and his face pinched in consideration. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’m afraid you’ve just got me right now, so I’ll get in there and lift the beams, but you’ll have to pull yourself into the stairwell. Do you think you can manage that?”

Bruce exhaled heavily, but nodded with grim determination. He braced his hands and elbows on the floor while the firefighter circled around and found a safe place to grab the debris.

“Ready?” he asked.

“When you are.”

Carefully, the fireman squatted and slowly lifted the timbers, grunting with the effort. Bruce quickly pulled himself forward in a pseudo army crawl, clearing the beams and pulling himself into the stairwell. He fought back a shout of pain when the motion jostled his legs, balling his fists and allowing a hiss to escape from between his clenched teeth. He almost didn’t hear the firefighter when he crouched down and began speaking to Bruce again.

“That didn’t sound good. Are you gonna be okay if I carry you?” he fretted, hands hovering over Bruce’s body nervously.

“We don’t exactly have much of a choice, do we?” Bruce grunted, rolling onto his side and extending his arms.

The fireman frowned, but reached down and lifted Bruce over his shoulder as gingerly as he could. Bruce appreciated the sentiment, though he still had to stifle cries of pain as he was rearranged. When they were both sure he was secure, the firefighter stood and made his way down the stairs, moving as quickly as he could without jostling Bruce any more than necessary. It wasn’t long before they cleared the front doors, stepping out into the crisp night air.

“I need paramedics! This man’s got broken legs and probably inhaled too much smoke!” Bruce heard the firefighter shout, but after all the excitement, Bruce was far too tired to really keep track of what was happening. One minute he was slung over a lovely set of shoulders like a sack of potatoes, next he was strapped to a gurney and loaded into an ambulance with a worried Dick, who was trying to say something, but the rushing in Bruce’s ears was drowning out the sound…

 

* * *

 

“Here, everyone at the station signed the card. The flowers were hand-picked by Todd.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Dick grinned as he put the vase of red poppies on the table next to Bruce’s hospital bed and sat back down in the rickety chair. He rifled through his bag and produced another card, handing it to Bruce with care.

“This one’s from little Stephanie. She wants to come visit you and personally thank you, if you’re up for it,” he said gently, leaning back in the chair as Bruce opened the card.

Inside was a crayon drawing of what Bruce assumed was himself, wearing a bright red cape, and carrying what must’ve been the little girl. “Thank you, officer,” was carefully written out along the top, without a single spelling mistake. He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but viciously bit the inside of his cheek to quell the urge. When he’d regained a semblance of his composure, he muttered, “Of course she’s welcome. As long as her parents don’t mind.”

Dick smiled warmly and nodded, taking both cards from his bedridden partner and propping them up by the vase. “You’re doing pretty well for someone who broke both his legs,” he observed, taking in the admittedly laughable picture of Bruce made, both legs encased in casts and hung off the bed in twin slings.

Bruce grimaced and muttered something that was probably very rude, but was cut off by Dick’s phone chirping. He pulled it out of his pocket and swiped it open, grin widening at whatever he read.

“Looks like you get another visitor today, Bruce! How exciting!”

“Dick, I swear to God, if you let Todd anywhere _near_ this building – ”

He nearly swallowed his tongue when Jason did not carefully open the door to his room, but instead the handsome fireman responsible for saving his life. He gave Bruce a breathtaking smile as he shut the door behind him and sat in the other chair next to Dick.

“Thank goodness you’re awake! I came by to check on you the other day and you were still asleep, so I was really worried. How are you feeling?” he asked, running his gaze up and down the length of Bruce’s body.

The officer fought back a blush and managed to reply with a deadpan, “Like a building fell on me.”

The firefighter threw his head back and laughed, and _oh_ , what a wonderful sound. Bruce couldn’t help but stare as the other man slowly regained his composure and extended a hand.

“I don’t think we were ever introduced, between the fire and the paramedics. I’m Clark Kent.”

“Bruce Wayne,” he faintly replied, firmly taking Clark’s hand. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Interestingly enough, Clark blushed at that, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. “I was just doing my job, ya know? _You_ though,” he breathed, “ _you_ were _amazing_. That little girl came running out, screaming for someone to go in. I managed to get her to calm down enough to tell me that a police officer had run back into the burning building for her, and he got stuck, but still made sure she got out.”

His face softened, eyes filled with awe and lips curling into a small smile. “I knew, right then, that this was the kind of person I _couldn’t_ let down. I _had_ to get in there and get you out. Someone that selfless and that brave deserves to have the favor returned.”

Bruce knew he was miserably losing the battle against his blush now – he could practically feel it creeping down his neck and under the collar of his hospital gown. He dropped his gaze into his lap and mumbled, “It’s _my_ job too. I was just doing what anyone would have.”

“I beg to differ,” Clark kindly retorted, staring earnestly at Bruce’s face. It wasn’t until he heard Dick stifling laughter that Bruce realized he was still holding Clark’s hand. He flushed even brighter and released it like it was burning him, setting both his hands in his lap.

“Should I leave you two alone for a bit?” Dick teased, bringing a flush to even Clark’s face now.

Bruce had a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but was interrupted by a confident, “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be back to see him again, so we’ll have _plenty_ of time for that.”

Bruce gaped as Clark shot him a saucy wink, standing up and digging through his bag to retrieve a scrap of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled something out and gave Bruce the paper, letting his touch linger a moment longer than necessary.

“In case you get lonely after visiting hours,” he explained, smiling again and giving each of the officers a nod before opening the door.

“See you around, Bruce.”

“See you,” Bruce croaked. With one last wink, Clark ducked out and closed the door. The room was silent for about three seconds before Dick made an unholy squawking noise.

“Lemme see that, is that what I think it is!?” he crowed, tugging at Bruce’s hand and prying the piece of paper from his stunned grip. He hooted when he saw the phone number scrawled across the rumpled note.

“ _Man_ , even when you’re getting your sorry ass saved by someone else, you’ve _still_ got game, B!” he laughed, nearly whooping when Bruce snatched the paper back.

“I wasn’t doing _anything_ Dick. I was delirious with pain and probably loopy from smoke inhalation,” he groused, carefully smoothing it out.

“Then I rest my case. If you can get a man in that state, you can get _anyone_ , B.”

Bruce tuned out the rest of his partner’s excited rambling, tracing the curve of each number with his eyes and allowing a small smile to settle on his lips.

Well, whether Dick was right or not, he must’ve done _something_ right if he managed to land a man who _literally_ walked through fire for him. And just think, they hadn’t even had dinner together. That would have to be remedied, Bruce decided.

That is, as soon as he was able to stand on his own two feet again.

 


	31. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my very last one! I can't believe the month is over already! Thanks to all of the lovely people who've been reading and leaving such nice comments. You're all awesome! Enjoy this last drabble, and everyone have a happy Halloween!

Diana carefully adjusted her bright red cowgirl hat, matching Clark’s pace as they approached the front doors of Wayne Manor.

“So what exactly should I be expecting?”

Clark grinned, smoothing the wrinkles of his cow print vest and straightening out the star pinned to it. “Well, you know Bruce never does anything by halves, and when the kids are involved, it just gets worse.”

Diana’s lips quirked at the corners, but that didn’t seem to deter her – she strode right up to the doors and knocked with three powerful blows. It was only a moment before they swung open, revealing Alfred completely decked out in a Santa Claus outfit, complete with the large fake beard.

Clark and Diana both froze in shock for a moment. Alfred seemed to sense the reason why and blandly explained, “Master Dick requested the family have costumes of a matching theme. He took it upon himself to watch _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ and assign everyone a character from the film. I think it fairly obvious who my assignment was.”

“Ah,” Clark replied shortly. “Well, I think that’s a lovely idea. It was nice of you to go along with it.”

Alfred’s lips twitched. “It wasn’t much of a hardship, I assure you. Come now, the family’s in the main sitting room.”

With that, he summarily ushered them in and herded the two heroes towards the aforementioned room. Even before they could see the doors, Clark could hear the themed music and laughter drifting down the hall. It brought a smile to his face that threatened to split it by the time they actually walked in.

The entire room was completely decked out, as expected. String lights in orange and purple cheerfully hung high up on the wall and dangled from the beams spanning the ceiling. Little cutouts of ghosts, mummies, bats, and other assorted ghouls and monsters were pinned to the walls. A long table of drinks and snacks, covered in a black cloth, sat inconspicuously along the far wall, and most of the furniture in the room had been rearranged, creating an informal dance floor.

“Hey, look what the cat finally dragged in!” Jason hollered, giving Diana and Clark a short wave with a burlap-covered hand.

“Oh, hey guys! Sorry we didn’t hear you!” Dick apologized, pulling himself away from the punch bowl and making his way across the room to give each of the newcomers a firm hug.

“No problem, Dick,” Clark assured him, taking in the suit and top hat the young man was wearing. Combined with the labeled ribbon on his lapel and the white mask on the back of his head, he must be…“The Mayor?” Clark guessed.

“Yeah!” Dick crowed. “Like it? Took me ages to get the spider tie right,” he added, adjusting the accessory.

“It’s wonderful,” Diana assured him, squinting at Jason, who joined the conversation. “Are you…are you supposed to be a potato sack?”

Jason laughed, nearly knocking the burlap hood off his head. “Not quite. I take it you haven’t seen the movie before?”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted.

“Well then, the name ‘Oogie Boogie’ will be lost on you,” he sighed. “I like the matching theme you two got goin’ on, Woodie and Jessie.”

Clark smiled sunnily, tapping the heel of one of his cowboy boots on the floor. “Thanks! Diana wasn’t sure what to wear, so I figured we could match.”

“Good call,” Jason agreed, head swiveling as he looked for something. “Now where are my minions?”

“Huh?”

Before Jason could answer Clark’s sophisticated inquiry, three more bodies tumbled into the sitting room, nearly squashing each other in their hurry. Upon closer inspection, it was Tim, Stephanie, and Damian, dressed as a devil, a witch, and a skeleton, respectively.

“What’s got you three in such an all-fired hurry?” Jason drawled.

“ _Stephanie tried to shove Alfred in a sack and Bruce is going to kill us_ ,” Tim shrieked, pulling himself out of the tangle of limbs.

“I was just trying to get into character! Don’t Lock, Shock, and Barrel kidnap Santa in the movie?” Stephanie retorted, standing up and smoothing out her dress.

“Tch. If that’s the case, I feel sorry for Barrel, bring forced to work with such incompetent partners,” Damian grumbled, fixing his mask.

“WELL, your costumes all came out looking great!” Clark loudly interrupted, attempting to nip that disastrous argument in the bud.

Fortunately, though the attempt was clumsy, it worked – Tim smiled and replied, “Thanks. It’s actually been kind of fun. We all made them ourselves.”

“Well, with a bit of help from Alfred,” Stephanie admitted.

“Wow, really? Don’t they sell these in the stores?” Diana asked.

“Yes, but the workmanship is shoddy. No Wayne should have to settle for such inadequate fittings,” Damian tutted.

“Yes, heaven forbid any child of Bruce’s wears something off the rack,” a teasing voice added.

“Babs!” Dick cried, rushing to the door.

Sure enough, Barbra Gordon had just arrived, wearing a white lab coat, elbow-length black gloves, and a pair of small, round sunglasses. She was being pushed in by Cassandra, who wore a red wig and a patchwork dress.

“So the creator and her creation have appeared,” Jason teased.

“Good to see you too, Jay,” Barbra drawled, turning he head so Dick could kiss her cheek.

“Don’t mind him. You two are the loveliest Dr. Finklestein and Sally I’ve ever seen,” Dick firmly assured them.

“I can’t speak for Cass, but I’m pretty sure I’m the _only_ Dr. Finklestein you’ve ever seen,” Barbra retorted with a wry grin.

“Point,” Dick admitted, taking over for Cassandra and pushing his girlfriend over to the refreshments table.

“You do look lovely, Cassandra,” Diana said with a smile.

“Thanks,” she replied shortly, but the small, pleased grin softened the abruptness of her response.

They all mingled for about twenty minutes before Clark started getting antsy, shooting quick glances at the door every few seconds.

“Looking for your sugar daddy?” Jason finally asked, causing Clark to blush dark enough to match Diana’s hat.

“I _have_ been wondering where our host is,” Diana agreed without protest, making Clark sputter.

“Bruce? I think he was in the kitchen with Alfred,” Tim confirmed, shooting a nervous glance at the door.

“Oh, calm down Tim, Bruce isn’t gonna kill us,” Stephanie sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Steph, you _physically assaulted_ his favorite person in the house. I had the misfortune of standing next to you when you did it. That is completely reasonable cause for concern,” he insisted.

“Who is assaulting whom?”

Tim and Stephanie screamed in unison when a deep baritone suddenly appeared behind them, and they both jumped away from the source of the sound.

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, but the effect was difficult to distinguish in his current state. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, which was entirely coated in white makeup, with black circles around his eyes, two marks on his nose, and sharp black lines across his mouth and cheeks that formed a painted grin. He frowned and smoothed out the jacket of his fitted pinstripe suit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing!” Tim squeaked, smiling shakily.

Bruce looked skeptical, but he didn’t pursue the subject and instead turned to his guests, offering a gloved, skeletal hand. “Glad you two could make it. I know you probably have your own plans…”

“Nonsense,” Diana insisted, brushing the hand aside and wrapping Bruce up in a tight hug. “We wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Clark smiled and gave Bruce a quick hug after Diana pulled away. He went to kiss his lover on the cheek, but stopped when he realized that may not be a good idea.

Bruce smirked. “None of that tonight. Can’t have you ruining my hard work, Woody.”

“Yeah. Pumpkin King here spent the better part of an hour on his makeup,” Jason snickered.

“ _Some_ of us had to do more than throw on a burlap jumpsuit,” Bruce calmly retorted.

“Hey! I worked very hard on this burlap jumpsuit!” Jason protested. “I even got packets of fake bugs in here. Wanna see?”

“No thanks,” Clark quickly cut in, face pinching in disgust.

Jason laughed, but he cut Clark some slack and refrained, opting to wander off and join Dick and Barbra at the snack table, along with Cassandra. Tim tapped Stephanie and Damian on the shoulders and whispered something to the both of them, prompting the trio to leave the room and disappear into the depths of the manor, leaving Bruce, Clark, and Diana alone by the makeshift dance floor.

“So, did Dick convince everyone to put on a live production of ‘ _This is Halloween_ ’?” Clark asked innocently.

Bruce immediately shushed him. “He threatened to do it when he first got this harebrained idea, but he forgot eventually. Don’t go reminding him now.”

Clark smiled, but he cut Bruce some slack and instead asked, “Did you make your own costume like the kids did? Or did you go to your tailor?”

Bruce grimaced. “Dick wanted me to do it myself, but I didn’t have the time,” he paused a moment. “Or the patience, if I’m being honest.”

Diana laughed, stepping closer and adjusting his bat bow-tie. “Your tailor did an excellent job, Bruce. You cut as fine a figure now as you do at any gala you deign to attend.”

Clark agreed, but had refrained from commenting since he doubted he would be able to keep himself from getting too…specific. From mentioning exactly how great Bruce’s ass looked in those slacks, or how broad his shoulders were in that pinstripe jacket.

He finally tore his gaze from Bruce’s body in time to see the man smirking at him again, making Clark blush, but he didn’t back down and held Bruce’s gaze. Not for long – just enough to convey _exactly_ what he thought of Bruce’s costume.

“OKAY PEOPLE, TIME FOR DANCING!” Dick shouted, startling Clark and Bruce out of their trance. ‘[Dead Man’s Party](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_uYSfEyOcE%20)’ began blaring from the speakers, and everyone began wandering onto the makeshift dance floor, shimmying and sliding as best as they could in their costumes.

Clark smiled and offered a hand to Bruce, but the billionaire hesitated a moment.

“C’mon Bruce, you can’t say no to Oingo Boingo, can you?” Clark teased.

Bruce cracked a smile at that, and took Clark’s hand as he led them to the dancefloor.

“Well, when you put it that way,” he conceded, resting his hands on the blushing Kryptonian’s waist as the music wafted through the air.

 

 _It's a dead man's party_  
_Who could ask for more?_  
_Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door_  
_Leave your body and soul at the door..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, in case any of you are interested, I do have a [Tumblr](http://dippkip.tumblr.com/), so come say hi, talk about shippy things with me, or just talk to me about your day. It IS a multifandom mess, just to forewarn you, but that just means there's a lot for us to talk about, right? *sweats*


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